


Stargazers

by Ruby_Wednesday



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Auguste Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, M/M, Quests, Romance, Royalty, canon typical content warnings apply
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:42:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 90,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruby_Wednesday/pseuds/Ruby_Wednesday
Summary: He imagined himself nineteen again, knowing then what he knew now, and wondered if he would let that long ago battle fall to the Veretians -- let Auguste live. If he would have ignored his father's call to arms altogether, and instead found his way to the Veretian tents and sought out Auguste to find some common ground. Five years after the Truce of Marlas, Damen and Laurent meet again in Delpha.  They're forced to work together to soothe the growing tension between their countries. But Laurent does not forgive easily and Damen's not that sorry.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my Auguste didn't die AU! I'll be updating weekly, most likely at the same time. I hope you like it. Hit me up on twitter @ruby__wednesday or tumblr @ruby--wednesday if you want to know more or just be fandom friends :)

Fertile fields, lush, green, occasionally gold, rolled out all around like a patterned carpet. Vere to the North. Akielos to the South. Damen looked at the land, admired it for what it was – a symbol of Akielon success -- and briefly closed his eyes and wished for a different view. He craved the sight of wild turquoise seas and bright white cliffs. It had been ten long months since he had been home and most of that time had been spent in less comfortable surroundings than Marlas. Peace reigned, officially, but there was constant tension at the border. Their troops had defended against Vaskians in Patras, quashed minor skirmishes further west along the border, and Damen had spent a tense time presiding over the crown sanctioned war games that allowed Akielons and Veretians to fight with cheer.

Auguste of Vere had been supposed to also attend, but the business of being a husband kept him back in Arles.

Damen had hoped the tournaments would alleviate the border tension but so far that had not been the case. Autumn had come and tension remained high on both sides. It seemed to Damen sometimes that his future reign would be determined on how well those tensions could be kept in check.

“Gathering your strength?” Nikandros asked, with a note of amusement in his voice that would not have crept out had there been anyone else on the battlement. Heaven forbid anyone heard their kyros and prince speaking like actual people.

“Something like that,” Damen said. “Any advice?”

“Run while you still can?” Nikandros suggested. “It's common knowledge he despises you.”

“As if I would be afraid of a pup of a prince.”

“Your father misses you. There is talk --”

“Tell me again what he is like,” Damen interrupted.

“You've met him.”

“Years ago. He was a child, then.”

Nikandros looked out at the land, like he was considering the best way to answer. “I have heard the word 'hateful' used more than once. He is supposed to be cold and unforgiving. He rebuffs all advances, so much that people call him frigid.”

“Wonderful,” said Damen.

“But his men are loyal. The common folk adore him. As does the King of Vere.”

“Yes,” said Damen. “I am aware of the last fact.”

“Also,” Nikandros continued. “He has blond hair, blue eyes, conversation that tangles people in knots and a face that makes people lose their breath. So, my prince, I must restate my advice for you to leave now.” With mirth in his voice but Damen found it hard to summon the same reaction.

“I have learned my lesson in that regard,” Damen replied. On the horizon, where green fields meet grey skies, a flash of blue and gold snapped in the wind. The starburst banner, accompanied by a small troop riding in a perfect arrangement, and among them the Veretian prince. “Look,” said Damen. “Laurent of Vere is almost here.”

-

Nikandros had already decided to greet the prince in the courtyard at Marlas. It was thronged with Akielon people in Akielon dress, and Akielon soldiers in Akielon uniforms. The red pennants of Akielos swayed in the wind. Demure slaves waited prostrate in perfect rows -- their bodies arranged in the clean, simple lines signature to Akielos.

The last time young Laurent was here, Marlas was a Veretian stronghold draped in blue and gold. Marlas had been a Veretian fort, impenetrable, except now it was held by Nikandros of Delpha in the name of Akielos.

Nikandros knew what he was doing. In Vere, you would probably be greeted in a lavish throne room. Certainly in Ios, Damen's father would not leave the marble great hall to meet a visiting dignitary. But waiting on the dusty ground where servants bustled at Marlas had its own kind of strength.

The gates opened and Laurent of Vere rode in first and that was its own show of strength. A young prince, known to have never served in any army, would generally be flanked by guards. But Laurent was the head of this formation, easy on a pure white horse, and relaxed in riding leathers with his golden hair wind-whipped around his head.

If Damen was impressed by the sight, he was not the only one. Half the courtyard fell in love with Laurent on the spot. And Damen could tell, because he was oft on the receiving end of such admiring looks.

Laurent swung down from his horse, without assistance, though he did take a moment to feed his mount a lump of sugar before handing it off to a servant. His gait was easy, a contrast to the structured tightness of his outfit. You saw his face and nothing more of his body. Even his hands were clasped behind his back. Still, for a young slight Veretian among older Akielon nobles who were decidedly not slight to hold his own was something to be admired.

“Welcome, your highness,” said Nikandros, as Damen hung back to allow his friend the full esteem of being kyros here. “We are pleased to welcome you to Marlas.”

“Thank you for your welcome,” Laurent said, and his voice was a startling thing to Damen. The last (and only) time Damen had heard Laurent speak, his voice was high-pitched from youth and fear. It stayed like that in Damen's head when he thought of the young prince occasionally in the following years. To hear it now, making lyrics of simple Akielon, in such mature tones temporarily fogged his brain.

“Our brother of Vere,” Damen said, stepping forward, eliminated any over-complicated introductions. “Hello.” There was surely something better to be said than hello, but Damen could not reach for it in that moment. There had been a discussion about the Veretian prince's level of fluency. He would bring that up again, later.

“Prince Damianos,” Laurent replied, with a quick nod of his head. It was entirely proper greeting among princes as neither party would bend the knee to the other. “Forgive me if I don't say it is good to see you again. Our last meeting does not hold pleasant memories for me.”

Ah. The first bow fired off. It might have stung, if Damen wasn't sure Laurent had memorised the phrase to deliver upon their next meeting. Auguste wrote, occasionally, unofficially, and he often wrote so warmly about his younger brother's gifts that only an unkind person would call it boasting. He never mentioned a proficiency in Akielon, though, but he did mention that Laurent made sport of irritating courtiers and visitors.

“Your Akielon has improved since last we spoke,” Damen replied, in Veretian.

“So have my defences,” Laurent replied.

Nikandros, who spoke Veretian, smoothly intervened. “Everyone here is eager to honour your visit,” he said. “We have fine lodgings for your men, the best food and wine for the feast, experts in all things trade and political at our disposal --” Damen had to admire how Nikandros slipped that in there. “And, we have the most exquisite slaves available --”

“No slaves,” Laurent interrupted.

“Such elegant diplomacy,” said Damen.

“Whatever you wish,” Nikandros continued. “Please avail of any Delphan hospitality that meets your requirements.”

Laurent glanced at Damen. “I am sure I did not come here to avail of divertissments.”

“No,” said Nikandros. “It is simply good manners to offer. I am sure you are here for your intended purpose. Shall we begin?”

“Come, let us go inside where only a portion of the fort is looking at us instead of all of it,” Damen said. “Trade, taxes and tariffs are not best spoken of in public.” That was the reason for Laurent’s journey south — the creation of a friendlier business relationship between the two countries. The continuing barriers were, in Damen’s estimation, petty.

Laurent regarded him for a second and swept ahead. “Do I need to ask the kyros's permission to bathe and change first? Do Akielons conduct business with the stench of roads and horses on their flesh?”

“Do Veretians care so much for vanity that they cannot?” Damen countered, while Nikandros instructed servants and guards.

“No.” Laurent offered what would have been a smile if his eyes weren't so cold. “Damianos,” he said, sotto vocce. “We both know greater problems lie between our countries than taxes and tariffs. Tonight, you and I will begin to sort them out.”

-

Out of respect for his friend's position, Damen did not sit in on Nikandros's meetings with Laurent. These negotiations would happen whether or not Damen was present at Marlas and in truth it was regional business. For the crown prince to bargain over whether to charge four or five sols per barrel of imported plumwine was both beneath his status and likely to elevate the importance of these meetings beyond their true nature.It was different for Laurent, who would never be King and by all accounts was content to hammer out such details for his brother. From what Damen knew of Auguste, the younger brother was better suited to tough negotiation.

Nikandros knew his King's wishes. He also knew the difficulties that would come with being kyros of Delpha when Delpha had been part of Akielos again for less than half a decade. Nikandros met each one with steady determination.

Damen knew his father ruled with unbridled strength. In matters such as this, he would make his position so completely clear that his opponent would know he had lost before he began. Theomedes would not want his son to bother himself with petty disagreements. After all, Auguste had not come to these meetings. Laurent was the younger brother, never destined to be prince. It was fitting he be here.

Before, if Damen had been able to shake off younger brother status long, it would have been fitting for him to send Kastor to attend such matters. Now, Damen could not imagine asking anything of his brother.

Tonight, to honour the visiting prince, a great feast in the Akielon style was already warming up when Damen made his way to the great hall. It was informal, as was his presence at Marlas. As far as anyone knew, he was simply visiting a friend. The people did not need to go to their knees when he entered as a room as they did for his father. A polite bow was enough. Some men, mostly soldiers, and some women, mostly soldiers wives and mothers though occasionally admirers, did kneel at the sight of him. These were men who had fought with him, the families of men he had kept alive through his leadership.

It took some time to make his way to the table at the head of the room where Nikandros sat, fanned by two lovely slaves. If the breeze happened to beat Laurent's way, well that was just a happy coincidence. The hall was warm with people and braziers and the constant flow of skewered, steaming meat to the low tables. The Veretian prince may eschew service by slaves but the high colour on his cheeks showed he was not immune to high temperatures. A servant could be asked to perform many tasks, but some were purely for slaves.

Damen's own slaves, Erasmus and Lykaios, were waiting at the table for him. Strictly, they were bed slaves and their roles at table were more of a ceremonial nature. But Damen liked them and trusted them and in these last months, it was a comfort of sorts to keep them nearby.

“Good evening,” Damen said, pleasantly, as he took his seat at the table. Nikandros stood, briefly. The prince did not.

“Is it?” said Laurent.

“We have good wine, good food and Nikandros's immoderate hospitality. Why would it not be?”

“You forgot to say company,” Laurent said.

“No, I didn't.” Damen had already decided to not let this one's tendency to tie people up in knots in conversation overwhelm him. He was no green boy. He was, unfortunately, no stranger to being on the receiving end of barbs and manipulation. “Dare I ask how the meetings went?”

“We made a start,” said Nikandros.

“That bad?” Damen turned over his cup to indicate he would like some wine. Erasmus appeared in an instant with some an earthy red from the south, Damen's favourite with these meals of braised and roasted meat.

“I did not come all this way for polite nothings,” Laurent replied. “This is a job not a tea party.”

“Wine?” Damen offered. Erasmus would have poured, of course, and it was only when the words came out of his mouth did he remember that to have one's slave pour wine for another could be interpreted as an intention of desire. He pressed on, to mask the blunder. “It's from a crop not from Ios. Very good wine.”

“I don't drink,” Laurent said.

“I do,” said Nikandros, and his cup was refilled. “Perhaps I should call for some music.”

With all the eyes in the room on the visitor from Vere, a distraction would be welcome at the top table. But not while people were still eating.

“Later,” said Damen. “Come on, let's thrash this out and get on with the night. What was so terrible about the meetings?”

“They were not terrible,” Laurent said. “Well, perhapsthey were. What else could an issue between Vere and Akielos be but terrible? But nothing happened to concern the crown prince. Just your typical disagreements among representatives of rival countries.”

“The man from the agriculture guild was close to tears,” Nikandros said.

“I thought your men were meant to be stronger than that. Where is the famed brute brawn?” said Laurent. “Unsurprisingly, our countries do not share the same philosophies. There's bound to be hurt feelings.”

“You insinuated he --” Nikandros began, then stopped. This was the high table and Laurent was as high ranked a Veretian likely to ever come to Akielos. There were things he would say by a campfire that he would not say as a kyros among kings.

“Don't leave me in suspense,” said Damen.

“He's got thousands of sheep. I can't be the first person to suggest he fucked a ewe or two.” Laurent's lips curled, briefly, amused by his own joke.

Damen did not laugh, though he wanted to. “He's also got that wool you want to import. Tread carefully, your highness.” Mocking. There was no need for Damen to use the honorific.

“Tell me,” Laurent said. “Does the Prince of Akielos share the same philosophy as his kyros here?”

“Mostly, he shares mine,” Damen said. Nikandros was loyal to the crown. He would not act in any way that was contradictory in the principles of his king. “Except when it comes to desire. We will never fall out over a woman.”

Laurent, without discretion, rolled his eyes. “I did not come here for the kind of juvenile discussion you find in a gladiator's changing room.”

“You're the one who brought up fucking,” Damen said. He had not intention of walking on eggshells around a jumped up princeling. Laurent was the one who arrived with old resentment. He was the one who sent downright hostile messages before his arrival. Damen had never spoken poorly of either Veretian prince but this Laurent had made his distaste for Damen known throughout two kingdoms.

“Regardless of the amount of gold in any royal coffers,” Laurent said. “The wellbeing of the subjects in both our countries is paramount.”

“Neither of us have subjects,” Damen said. “My father and your brother are ones who have subjects. And in Akielos, they are citizens.”

“Or slaves,” said Laurent. “As I was saying, your kyros prefers to focus on economical matters --”

“As economical matters are the purpose of this visit,” Nikandros said. They were also the only things he would have known for sure how to decide, as the king had long made his position clear. Damen wondered how terrible the meeting had been and how much wine Nikandros had drunk to interrupt a prince. Such indiscretions were enough to ruin this visit before it got started.

“He also said,” Laurent continued, as unaffected by the interruption as he appeared to be by the lovely slaves at his disposal earlier on. They had been handpicked to potentially serve a prince and he had reacted as if they were part of the furniture. “That if we can secure fair finance and economic prosperity that the social problems will lesson. It is my belief that the social issues are just as important and will go a long way to alleviate other pressures if only we can make improvements there. What is your opinion, Damianos?”

“I'm more concerned with what my father and your brother have laid out for these talks.” Damen was careful to be neutral in times when he did not need to show strength.

“Really? That is disappointing.”

“I think,” Damen said, aware that he was being needled. “That it is the duty of a prince to protect those who are weaker. I wish for Delpha, and all of Akielos, to be safe and just.” One of Laurent's pale brows arched slightly and Damen felt his neck grow hot. “A fan, Lykaios,” he said. Then, “But a strong economic system is necessary for safety and justice to prevail. I don't see why we cannot achieve both.”

Laurent, ever so slightly cocked, his head. “Predictable,” he said. “But not entirely offensive.

-

 

Damen stayed at the feast long enough to eat and drink his fill and show support to a rather fraught Nikandros. This was the most significant thing he had done as kyros and as ambassadors went, Laurent was not exactly a merry type. Mostly, when people visited Akielos from abroad they were so overwhelmed by the straightforward hospitality they were amenable to negotiations. Why, there were rumours that the nobility in Patras chased the role as if it was a prize.

It became clear, however, that Nikandros would be more comfortable with his bannermen and generals. He drank with them all the time. He saw Damen less and less these years and Damen could not abandon his fellow prince. When it came to protocol, he was not a complete idiot. Also, he didn't want to unleash Laurent on any unsuspecting soul brave enough to approach the table.

So he stayed while Nikandros mingled and waited a respectable amount of time after Laurent retired to tap Lykaois on the shoulder. The King's Quarters were the finest rooms in the whole palace and Damen was eager for the respite provided by the open space. There were hints of the Veretian style in the ceilings and windows but the decor and the beds were classic Akielon.

Laurent, Damen realised, once an impatient knock came to his door, had been given the Queen’s Quarters. Anything less would have been an insult. Here he was, to keep his promise. As if one late night meeting between princes could solve a century of conflict. If it could, Damen and Auguste would have fixed things a long time ago. Laurent did not wait to be invited in to Damen’s chambers. In he strolled, as if this was a normal occurrence.

First, he excused Lykaios. No more expecting slaves to keep secrets. He had seen the damage it could do.

“You know,” Damen began, “People will talk. Midnight meetings. It might be seen as a tryst.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Laurent replied.

“It’s you who should be flattered. I assure you my reputation is not unearned.”

“I assure you,” Laurent said, with the same coolness he practiced in all walks of life. “That neither is mine. Everyone knows I don’t swoon at suitors. I’m as frigid as the top of the Vaskian mountains, and twice as dangerous. Perhaps, Prince Damianos, with his wandering eye and penchant for fair hair lured me here under false pretenses. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time you did something nefarious with Veretian royalty in the dead of night.”

“You and I have different definitions of nefarious.” Damen could feel himself flush. He didn’t want Laurent to see that. “Come on, then. Tell me your grand plan.”

In response, Laurent dropped some rough fabric onto a low couch. “Get changed,” he said. “We’re going out.”

“Fine.” Damen removed the lion pin, and his chiton was soon on the floor. He had no qualms about nudity. Let the prudish Veretian suffer.

Laurent busied himself with some glassware while Damen dressed. Damen noticed, as he pulled peasant clothes onto his princely body, that Laurent had also eschewed his luxurious clothing.

It must have taken at least thirty minutes for the jacket alone.

“Good,” Laurent said. “I wasn’t sure they’d fit.”

“Had them made special?”

"I found a stuffed bear in the hunting hall to use as a model," he replied. "Come. It's getting late."  
-  
That’s how Damen found himself riding out of Marlas with just the Prince of Vere for company. Vere and Akielos may try at being friends these days but Damen was under no illusion about Laurent’s feelings towards him. It was a good thing he was such a good fighter or he might question his decision. Well, Laurent would not win if he tried to kill him and there was no strategic value in launching an ambush. Theomedes would tear Vere apart.

“Here’s what you need to know,” Laurent called above the hoofbeats. “We are scholars, a joint initiative between our two glorious nations to further academic study. It’s a very important project and, alas, scholars are not rich so we must bear these ghastly clothes.”

“I need to know a lot more than that.”

“Are you likely to be recognised?” Laurent asked.

“Depends where you’re taking me.”

“Oh, just to the ruins. We’re doing a quick assessment of them but, mostly, we’re out mapping the stars.”

“Right.” As cover stories go, Damen had heard better. In fact, it was about the worst, and that was before you consider the natural Akielon distaste for this kind of subterfuge.

“You disapprove?”

“We would make a more likely border patrol.”

“You would,” Laurent said. “And then it is very likely you would be recognised, oh famed warrior-prince. No-one in either of our kingdoms care about scholars.”

Damen wheeled his horse in closer to Laurent. “You could have picked something less obscure. Or do you enjoy feeling superior?”

“I did consider poetry,” Laurent said. “But I doubt I have the stomach for your efforts. Ten verses about Akielon mating rituals when all it involves is flipping skirts and affixing cuffs.”

Laurent really did know nothing about Damen’s country. Nor was it Damen’s job to enlighten him.

“What makes you think it would be romantic poetry?” he said, and touched his horse with his heels.

Laurent, however, kept up every beat of the way.  
-  
At the crumbling ruins, where a battle nearly happened, Laurent swung down from his horse and began spreading out charts and tools from his saddle bags. He conducted this task with remarkable efficiency. Damen was still stretching out his back.

“If I’m going along with this,” Damen said. “You still need to tell me why. Is it simply a flight of ego because of your banners? Perhaps I could source a living lion and make things even.”

“You’re here, Damianios. You are going along with it. As for the particular field of study, it made sense to me. Obscure, likely and the perfect excuse to be out at night.”

“That’s not the real answer.”

Laurent shrugged, a very Veretian gesture. “Everyone likes stars. And it wasn’t difficult to brush up on my knowledge before I rode south.”

“You studied stars —”

“Astronomy.”

“Simply to execute a ruse.”

“Yes,” said Laurent. “Now stop talking about ruses. The border guards identified this spot as a high traffic area. We don’t want to scare them off now do we?”

“Are scholars allowed a fire?” Damen rubbed his hands together.

“As long as you don’t expect me to light it.”

“No, your highness. Wouldn’t dream of it.” Damen didn’t need long to get a small fire going a safe distance from the paper maps and charts Laurent had brought. He noticed Laurent watching. “I bet you’ve never had to light your own fire,” he scoffed. “You’ve probably never had to fend for yourself outside over night before.” As he spoke, he heard the tone of his own voice and yet, it seemed to belong to a stranger.

Laurent flushed. “You speak like a resentful peasant instead of the most privileged man in Akielos.”

“In Akielos, our peasants are not resentful. We treat all our people well.”

“If that was true, you wouldn’t be calling them peasants,” Laurent said. “In fact, if the cloud stays sparse we may might get the linear pattern mapped here —” pointing at a chart — “Before Helchella slips from view.”

Damen, sensing Laurent had good reason for the change of topic, nodded knowledgeably. Laurent tapped at a certain point on the compass, and Damen looked in that direction to see a long young man walking with the light of a torch and the stars to guide his way. There was no road or pathway here, just rolling green land.

“Suspicious,” Damen muttered.

“Or stupid,” Laurent said. “Please remember this is just a reconnaissance mission.”

“Please remember I’m the future King of these lands.”

It was right to hush, then, and pretend the stars were fascinating. Laurent muttered numbers and Damen scribbled nonsense, wondering if any of the words and figures Laurent says make sense at all.

“It’s a valuable tool, really,” Laurent was saying. “For travelers. Armies. Sailors, especially. Lonely shepherds. Anyone who needs to learn how to be guided.”

“So are maps,” Damen replied, tracking the movement of the young man with torch. He could be a scout. A decoy. He could be a lone criminal. There really were an awful lot of raids these days, from single stolen chickens to entire farmsteads. One man could light a fire. One person, he knew, cold do an awful lot of damage.

“He doesn’t look ill at ease.”

“He’s whistling,” Damen says.

“A signal?”

“No, I think…”

“He’s happy,” Laurent said, thoroughly disgusted. “Greet him,”

“Don’t tell me —” Damen made himself focus on the task. “Nice night,” he called in Akielon.

The walking man turned his head, a lazy motion that reminded Damen of a cat. “Indeed, it is,” he replied. With his head turned, the light of his torch made the purple splotches on his neck obvious. The lovebites made everything else obvious — the sleepy eyes, the satisfied expression, the languid walk. Someone out on this night was engaging in trysts. The man slowed as he passed and looked at Damen and Laurent and their spread of charts. Half of Damen’s bulk was concealed by the ruins. “You should be careful out here,” he called. “Lots of raids these days.”

“But who would bother a humble scholar?” Damen said to Laurent, as the man walked on.

“That was terrible,” Laurent replied. “What happened to the warrior who can extract information and bend men to his will with a well-placed blow?”

“That man was no threat,” Damen said. “What? Couldn’t you tell? He was just returning home from an evening of sex.”

“Trust you to see that.” Laurent spoke without jest or malice, and mostly looked down at his books.

“Trust you to not,” Damen said, and when a stain of red appeared on Laurent’s cheeks a flush of shame went through Damen. It wasn’t in his nature to bully people and yet, here he was, poking fun at the Prince of Vere just so Laurent didn’t hurt him first. These last months had made Damen brittle. He could feel it inside, and sometimes he caught a flash of different discomfort in the people around him. “I’m sorry,” Damen said. “It’s late and I am tired. I should not tease you about personal matters.”

Laurent lifted his head. “What you say about anything other than royal business, Damianios, is as inconsequential to me as a dog barking in the distance. Furthermore, if you think you can offend me by talk of sex and the inference of gossip then I suggest you work on your insults. Also —”

“All right. I’ve heard you —”

“You have bothered me enough,” Laurent continued. “In that warfield tent at Marlas. Nothing else can —”

“Laurent, I don’t know what you remember but please allow me to explain.”

“I have no interest —”

“I never would have hurt you. Or your brother. It was… he assumed and I seized the opportunity. It was a strategic decision. You have to admit it worked out for the best.”

“For the best?” Laurent’s eyes blazed now, bluer than the base of the flames. “No, the best would have been if you did not restrain me, blackmail my brother, humiliate our crown, take our lands for your thugs and take our children into slavery and —”

“Surely you can think of a worse outcome than peaceful surrender.” Damen forced himself to keep his hands flat on the stone, his voice low, his body relaxed. “You never would have won. He never would have beat me.”

“Of all the arrogance —” Laurent stopped, again. “Oh,” he said. “You can make out the full shape of The Cherry, away from the smoke and light of the city.”

Damen suspected Laurent was simply making up names for these stars now.

But he heard the horses and the edge to their accompanying voices, too. Damen had been on enough military campaigns to recognise the tone of a group of men very close to boiling point.

“Raiders,” he said. “That’s Veretian.”

But the men who emerged from the treeline beyond were not, well, fast enough or focused enough to present any real threat.

“Hold,” said Laurent.

“I do not take orders from you,” Damen said. “Nor was I planning on attacking your subjects.”

He watched the men approach. The timbre, the foul language, the palpable anger all would have been a worry if Damen and Laurent had truly been scholars. There were few more capable of destruction than angry young men with time on their hands. And in the absence of women, a humble scholar would surely be a prime target.

They were here to make mischief, though, and that was quite far removed from the concerns of two princes. Snippets of conversation reached their ears, and it was nothing Damen hadn’t heard before. This land would have been theirs, if it wasn’t for Akielos. Their fathers would be alive, if it wasn’t for Akielos. They wouldn’t be living in such cramped quarters, if it wasn’t for Akielos.

Damen figured this was not the right time to point out that when Delpha reverted to his country, they were happy for all the residents to remain. They had been part of his kingdom, once. If they had seen the campfire, these men were not bothered by it. They loped across the land to the farms just beyond.

“Tee is right,” one young man, made louder by alcohol. “We need to act before Akielos fucks us all again.”

“You’d only love it,” replied another, shoving him.

“Have you seen them? I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of any of them,” said another. “Their Prince is a behemoth and the guards aren’t —”

“What are they doing?” Damen whispered to Laurent.

“Can’t you tell?” Laurent replied, archly. “Well, I suppose it does take less time in your garments.”

Damen heard then, across the rolling fields, what the men had come to Akielos to do.

They were pissing on their vegetables.

“And you call us savage,” Damen said. “Tell me more facts about stars before they want to start something.”

Laurent pushed a chart towards him. “Read them yourself.”  
-  
They stayed out a while longer, but there was no more activity. This kind of watch was beneath them both — work for low ranking soldiers. In fact, it was boring now that Laurent had disengaged from all conversation. Damen didn’t think he would prefer Laurent’s needling insults, but, well he didn’t think he would be out here with him either.

“Was that worth all the subterfuge?” Damen asked, as they repacked the props.

“We have an initial. Which is more than we had beforehand.”

“The letter T. Does it mean anything to you?”

Laurent replied with a look. Which made Damen realise that even if it did, Laurent would not tell him.

“If you want my co-operation, you have to be open with me,” Damen said.

Laurent said, sounding puzzled. “I have been.”

“I’ll assign guards when —”

“No,” said Laurent. Again with orders. “Not yet. Let’s wait.”

“Fine.” Damen mounted his horse. He was glad of a new project, if he was completely honest with himself. Hopefully, they could improve things here at the border. After all, that was the reason they were here. “I forgot to say, earlier, that I offer my congratulations to your family on the new addition.”

“It is my brother you should congratulate.”

“We did,” Damen said. “I am speaking to you now. A new heir is a wonderful thing. And you are going to be an uncle.”

Laurent just pressed his heels into his horse and rode on ahead. He made an impressive figure, even in rustic clothing. Damen thought Laurent must succeed in life just by the way that he looked and his knack with cutting remarks.

Well, Damen was not about to get burned again or lead along like a donkey by the Prince of Vere. Back at the fort, he gave orders for his some of his trusted men to patrol that stretch of the border and made discreet inquiries regarding the existence of any kind of rebellious man whose name started with T. Damen was perfectly capable of sorting disputes by himself. He was perfectly aware now of the capabilities men had for treason and betrayal. He thought of Laurent, so sure it was right to hate Damen for ending a war all because it bruised his ego, and he nearly felt sorry for the young prince. Laurent had a lot to learn about the real world.

Back in his quarters, with a short while to dawn, sleep did not come easily. It did not come at all.

* * *

 

 **Note** : Thanks for reading, guys! As usual, this is un-beta'd and not heavily edited so please excuse any mistakes. Your thoughts and feedback are very welcome, too.  Next chapter, this time next week. 


	2. Chapter 2

  


The room was probably pretty before the Akielons brutalised the architecture. Once, there would have been elegant wooden coving in the corners. There would have been lavish four poster beds and sumptuous curtains and sconces dipped in gold. The Queen’s Quarters at Marlas, where Laurent’s mother probably stayed in happier times, had been stripped back to their bones. The walls were bare. The space was torn open. The bed was a low marble affair that made you feel like one night of restless sleep would have you floundering on the un-carpeted floor.

Laurent, however, had not slept at all. He felt the fatigue in his body and battled the whirling in his mind. That was the problem with rooms like this — there was too much emptiness. You were forced to be aware of the shape of yourself, sharp elbows and soft guts and all. It was little wonder these people kept slaves. It was hard to be alone here.

Laurent had vowed, a few short years ago, that he would never step back inside this place. Of course, they hadn’t the chance to get back to the fort after the surrender. Damianos had claimed it for Akielos and word was, he and his friend celebrated their win for several nights. But he had thought, then, he would never see Delfeur again. He had thought a lot of things, when he was thirteen.

And when he was eighteen, officially a man if such a thing could ever be official, Auguste had taken Laurent aside and took him to task for his attitude. Sure, it was cloaked in sweetness. Auguste relied on him. He trusted him. He wanted his little brother to be a driving force on his council. But how could he do that, if Laurent insisted on living in the past. The war was over. Delfeur belonged to Akielos now. There would be no more wars, if Auguste had anything to say about it, and therefore he must stop judging Akielons so harshly.

Laurent had stopped himself choking out disbelief. “I judge them,” he had said, “Because they commit actions that deserved to be judged. War orphans taken as slaves. Camp followers left with bastards in their bellies. Father… all the death. Destruction.”

“Brother, these are all things that happen in war. A war cannot be fought without an opponent.”

“He —”

“Who?”

“Damianos of Akielos,” Laurent said, as if he could mean anyone else. But what else could he say? It would an insult to his king to continue the sentence. It would show his brother, who still thought Laurent hero-worshipped him, that Laurent had hated seeing Auguste’s humiliating surrender. As if surrender could be anything but degrading. Auguste was King now and he exchanged cheerful pleasantries with the man who humiliated him. “I can still remember how his hands felt wrapped around my arms.”

“Who?”

“Auguste, what do you want from me?” Laurent demanded.

“I remember,” Auguste had said. “What it was like to look out a field of men and have them think you are something you are not. Can you understand that?”

“Yes but —”

“Cast the old ways aside, Laurent. They only cause pain.”

For his brother’s sake, Laurent tried. He wanted Auguste to trust him in matters of politics. He wanted Auguste to see him as a real player, not a boy who needed protecting. And he really did want peace for his country.

But sometimes, when he couldn’t sleep or when he pushed his body to its limits in the training arena, Laurent could still taste the choking bile of his hatred. And here, back at Marlas, all he could think about was how different it may have been if Auguste had won the war. No-one could fight like his brother. No-one could inspire men like him. He never would have surrendered to Damianios in any other circumstance. And Laurent…he had plenty of regrets. They started with those chaos days after his father died and he wasn’t quite sure if they would ever come to an end.

It was typical of Akielos, Laurent supposed, in the bare room, to smile at you and pretend to be honest and then, as those peasants had said, fuck you over anyway.

He redressed in a fresh brocade jacket and, though they had already been meticulously cleaned and polished, rubbed a cloth over his boots one more time. If your outerwear shone enough, people tended not to look much further. It was different, amongst the Akielons, where most everything was whittled away. Laurent supposed, somewhat reluctantly, that there might be something honest about that.

Honesty was not his strong point. Yes, he believed in truth. But honesty was a whole other animal. Auguste believed, mostly, that Laurent had come south to improve relations between Akielos and Vere. Damianos believed Laurent’s true intent was to stop these flurries of violence being vollied back and forth at the border. Both of those things were accurate, but Laurent had his own plans too.

On the ride south, he had heard stories that seemed snatched straight from tales to scare children before bed. It was the Akielons. They were taking people. They were making them into slaves. This was country Auguste wanted to get into bed with, so to speak, a nation of child-snatching slave owners. Laurent did not want war. But he did want…vindication. Akielos was not a good place. Their prince might play at niceness, because those who never suffered could easily be nice, but there was nothing good about a place where it was acceptable to own another person.

Bad enough doing that to their own citizens but to take Veretians, too. Unacceptable. 

He made his way down to breakfast in the hopes that food would wake him. The servants guided him and his guards to a private solar, where the kyros dined with the prince. It would be insult for Laurent to dine elsewhere, so he bore the prospect well. He was quite good at enduring unpleasant diplomacies. As long as he helped Auguste and eased the tension here, he could endure almost anything. Financial negotiations, catching criminals and, of course, Laurent had his own plans. 

He hoped, when he saw Damianos and Nikandros at the overflowing table, that he was good at keeping his expression neutral. It was somewhat of a shock to see Damianos hail and hearty, laughing with his friend in a way Laurent had not seen at the dinner last night, showing absolutely no sign of fatigue from the night at the ruins. They did not stop their Akielon conversation at his arrival. Rather, they greeted him with a casual morning and waved him over as if this was a guardroom. 

It was an informal space. Unlike Vere, where people judged their royals quite openly, Akielon people were enraptured by their future king. Damianos didn’t even seem to realise the way people here shaped their whole bodies to his presence. The angled themselves towards him the way Veretians angled themselves towards the sun the first time it shone after the long winter. It wouldn’t have bothered him to eat his meals publicly, Laurent thought. Auguste was like that, too. 

It must be an heir thing.

Laurent served himself, since he was quite sure the attendants were slaves. He also pretended he had a greater understanding of the conversation than he really did. He caught enough to know not to be offended — sport seemed to be the main topic, which seemed ill-befitting of a crown prince and a kyros until Laurent remembered that those were not the easiest roles to have.

Not that he cared about their wellbeing.

Or their wrestling history. 

Laurent had some decent Akielon, certainly, but it mostly consisted of cutting phrases, meaningless pleasantries and the ability to ask where the nearest library was. He had been studied the rules, along with the stars, and made sure the phrases necessary for tax and trade where to hand but, well, faced with two native speakers he was a little lost.

“You look rested,” he said to Damianos, in Veretian, when there was a lull in the conversation. “I thought our jaunt might tire you out more.”

“It takes more than that to tire me out,” Damianos replied, with an odd expression. Or perhaps tone. It was as if he was making these flippant replies out of habit than any personal intent. “I got a good training session in before breakfast, too”

Of course he did. Big men and their muscles. Laurent was strong-willed enough to keep his gaze from flitting to said muscles. Damianos was even larger now than he had been during the war. He was probably stronger, too. That came with age, the trainers had said to Laurent in the palace, consolingly. 

Nikandros reacted to the exchange and Laurent could tell that even in this private setting, he was not going to question his prince. 

“Stay out all night, often?” Laurent drizzled honey on his oats, and then some brown sugar. Nikandros reacted to that, too.

“When I feel like it,” Damianos replied. “Of course, as a seasoned soldier missing a night’s sleep is not the shock to the body that is for those who are untrained in service and combat.”

“In fact, it is part of the training,” added Nikandros.

“I see,” said Laurent. “And this is meant to make me feel inferior somehow. That I, a prince of the blood, has not yet done any active military duty. Anyone can tote a sword and march in straight line. I serve my crown and country in other ways.”

Out of nowhere, Damianos smiled. “By keeping me out all night. Forgive us, Laurent. We are too used to soldier ways. It is no shame to not have served.”

“I know.” Tense. He did not need any kind of absolution from Damianos of Akielos.

“Your brother said your health was poor, when you were of the joining age.”

“Did he?” With his mouth pressed into a thin line. What else had Auguste, stupid kind Auguste with no instinct for deception, told Akielos about them? Poor health, indeed. 

“Outdoor life is not for everyone,” Nikandros added. 

“Being patronised is not for princes,” Laurent said. “Nor, I see, is basic table manners. Damianos, you have something on your …” He flicked his wrist instead of finishing the sentence. The thought of referring to Damianos of Akielos’s pectoral muscles, even in a ploy to regain the upper hand, was beneath his dignity. Wide-eyed for no reason Laurent could fathom, unless he entertained the idea of this being some failure of service, the boy slave with the honey hair, rushed gracefully towards his master. 

“Oh,” said Damianos. “Jam.” He rubbed it away with his thumb, then stuck his thumb into his mouth. Animal. Laurent had to look away. 

“I brought you something,” Laurent said. “But with those sticky fingers…” He still waved hisguard over with the book — a guide to mapping the stars that Laurent had first read when he decided on this cover story. 

“Thank you,” said Damianos.

“It’s not a gift,” Laurent said. “Consider it ammunition. We have more work to do. After your kyros and I meet, of course. What is it today?”

“Income tax,” Nikandros said, and ice-cold Laurent had never heard words spoken with less enthusiasm. 

“I’ll be attending today,” Damianos announced. 

“Excellent,” Laurent lied.

-

They met at a long table in a room Laurent had been in before. The table may have even be the same, though it was covered in both velvet and lace then. This was where his uncle had convinced their father they should leave the fort and engage with the Akielons. 

And everyone knew how well that ended up. Laurent chastised himself for not preparing for these particular ghosts. Damianos sat at the head of the table, and Laurent thought that maybe that was the very same spot he had last seen his father alive. Or was it mounting a thick horse in the courtyard? Pinning a badge to Auguste’s chest with an army at their backs? Marlas was full of ghosts, even those of people who did not die here.

“Your highness.” That same boy-slave was at Laurent’s side with a shallow cup of water. That was another bad thing about slavery in a very long list of bad things about slavery. They were trained to be invisible. They could sneak up on you. 

“Thank you.” Laurent took the water. He needed something cold. “Please remember I do no wish to be served by slaves.”

The boy cringed into himself. He was fair, and younger than Laurent by at least two years. Laurent wondered where his life had started. He may have been a regular boy here in Delfeur, if the Akielos had not pillaged and conquered the province. A Veretian with the chance to make something of himself. 

“Forgive me,” he said, sounding like he may cry. “This slave must obey his —”

“It’s fine, Erasmus, you did no wrong. It was my mistake,” Damianos intervened, with a gentle tone Laurent did not expect from such an ungentle man. “Go find Lykaios.” Then, to Laurent. “You looked troubled. I do not think you want me offering you water by my own hand.”

“If I want something, I will get it myself.” He set the empty cup on the table. “Now let’s get to work.”

The issue was that there were Veretians who crossed the border daily to work in Delfeur. These were men who toiled these lands for many years and knew the soil and mines and rivers better than their own skin. It was not illegal and the Akielons paid them for their expertise. However, Akielos taxed wages at source. Vere required subjects to declare their own taxes. These men who existed in both countries, did not take kindly to being taxed twice.

And neither country was willing to lose income.

Laurent had planned for this. He had discussed with Auguste the limits of what they would concede. 

“You have enough free labour,” Laurent said. “You can cope with paying these men a higher rate so they do not suffer unjustly.”

“Or you could lower your rate for monies earned outside Vere.”

“Why would we do that?” Laurent asked. “You have already taken enough from us. Including an entire province of taxable subjects and arable land.”

“What if we lowered the price of olive oil by a sol per cask,” Damianos said. “Could you then create an exemption for those workers.”

“Not an exemption. But perhaps a lower rate,” Laurent said, quickly calculating the potential results of that kind of reduction. “And you lift the embargo on Veretian linen.”

“No, our flax industry needs no competition,” said Damianos. “We still allow most other cloth and do not trade with Kempt, which gives you the advantage.”

“Our silk is overtaxed.”

“We have deals with Patras.”

Laurent paused to consider this. Truthfully, he was tired and Damianos was a much sharper negotiator than Laurent had expected. Coupled with the sure-footed authority coming from the table where his father had last sat, Laurent was finding it a little difficult to keep up.

“You will lower the oil price for two seasons,” he said. “From twenty sols to nineteen.”

Nikandros glanced at one of the other Akielons.

“From nineteen to eighteen,” Damianos corrected. “You must have an incorrect list.”

“Yes,” said Laurent, though his lists were correct. He was just tired. And he had almost agreed to a discount that was not a discount at all. “We will reduce income tax on those workers by four percent.”

“Six,” said Nikandros. 

“Five,” said Laurent.

“Agreed,” said Damianos. “Let’s break there.” 

Laurent lingered, as the other men shuffled away. “I do not need you to coddle me.”

“I agree. You do not need that,” Damianos said. “I have made inquiries, by the way, regarding our other matters.”

“So have I,” said Laurent, though he had not yet done so. 

“I have things to attend to for the afternoon.” Damianos gestured towards a stack of missives which bore the royal seal of King Theomedes. “There won’t be any more meetings. You should rest, if you wish to go out again tonight. And that’s not coddling. It’s just common sense.”

Laurent saw no reason to continue this conversation. He did look back, just once, and it seemed to his tired eyes that Damianos was bracing himself to open correspondence from his beloved father. Perhaps all was not well in the the palace of Ios. It should have pleased him to see trouble befall that family as it had blighted his, but he just felt empty. That was nothing unusual, either.

-

Laurent believed in revealing as little about himself as possible to the world in general. His appearance, he could not hide, but no-one saw any more of his body than he allowed. People knew he was devoted to his brother, but there was no shame in that. Auguste inspired devotion in everyone he met. There was the sex part (or lack thereof) of his reputation which sometimes felt like another layer of armour. Reject enough people and you get left alone, mostly. There were false things Veretians believed - for example, a whole pocket of people in Toutaine thought he was obsessed with sculpture and sent him tributes in marble and ceramic for each of his birthdays. And he had never been able to hide how much he loved horses.

Today, that true part of his reputation stood to benefit him. He nabbed an errand boy to show him to the stables. It was natural the horse-loving prince would want to see the caliber of horse in Akielos. Laurent, naturally, found them inferior to his own collections but that was hardly the point. He was on a mission and he did not like to entrust such things to his men until he knew what they would be looking for. A copper coin sent the errand boy away, and Laurent went away to explore the parts of the fort he had not managed to get to yet. Thankfully, he knew his way around Marlas. But that didn’t mean much when he turned heads everywhere he went.

Never mind. He planned for all eventualities and, upon spotting an older man with Veretian features, pressed upon him for news of any modifications to the fort. They said in the armies that Veretian forts were the jewels in their crown. Well, this one had been chipped away from the gold. Of course he would be interested.

“Are there slave training facilities here?” he asked.

“Oh, no, your highness,” the man replied. “No-one here has the skills. And, with respect to the kyros, Marlas is not yet fine enough for trainee slaves.”

“A former Veretian stronghold is not fine enough for people who are owned by other people?”

“They know only luxury. It’s part of the exchange, your highness.”

“I see.” Evidently, the man had been brainwashed to Akielon thinking. “Tell me, what is in that building so?” Laurent turned his head towards a large outbuilding that showed signs of occupations. He was pretty sure it had been a barn back when Marlas belonged to Vere. It had certainly never been used to house people. 

“That’s where the women live,” the man said. “And the kids.”

“Any particular women?” Or kids, perish the thought. Laurent had limits to where he allowed his thoughts to go. 

“Laundressses. Seamstresses. Let me think, kitchen maids. Dairy maids. Chamber maids. Um..”

“Thank you, I see.” Laurent considered this. “Are they not roles usually carried out by slaves here?”

“Perhaps further south, your highness. Here, well, if they didn’t do them what would the women do? ”

-

After a much needed rest, Laurent summoned Damianos on another investigative mission. In truth, he would have been able to go alone or with his guard. But this was Akielos now, and having the crown prince involved in solving any matters of conflict would make things efficient. Damianos ruled men by breathing. A look was all it took to make them quake. But Laurent had seen these past days that mostly Damianos let people bask in his light. They looked at him like men looked at Auguste — as if he was made of the sun itself. 

Must be a king thing.

So Laurent took a small amount of pleasure in ordering Damianos around.

“We will go further east tonight, away from the shelter of the ruins,” he said, leaving no room for argument simply with the haughty tone of his voice. Auguste hated when Laurent spoke like that. But Auguste wasn’t here. And Laurent was no longer a child. “If anyone comes along, you can act as my assistant.”

“Your assistant.” Damianos simply looked at Laurent. “I think the reverse is more believable.”

“Which one of us has knowledge of our scholarly pursuits?” Laurent resisted the urge to simply ride off.

“I read most of that book. I am sure we won’t encounter anyone with more knowledge than that in rural Delpha.”

“Most of it?”

“Who has time for footnotes?” Damianos spoke conversationally. It was odd. Surely he must have some underlying motive. “And I really think they could have tried harder with some of the names of the constellations. But overall, interesting.”

Laurent said, “I am surprised you had time with the stack of letters in front of you after the meetings.”

“Ah, you can be diplomatic. I know you want to say you are surprised someone like me read the book at all.”

Perhaps he was trying to provoke Laurent into some insult.

“I know you are capable of more than you show, Damianos.” It was meant to be a barb but Laurent realised, with some degree of horror, that his words made Damianos smile. “So, can you identify the constellations?” 

“I don’t know, yet. I haven’t tried. Perhaps my master in scholarly pursuits will have to instruct me when we reach our destination.” With that, Damianos of Akielos spurred on his horse and passed Laurent out. Laurent did not bother to keep up. He had more important things to focus on than engaging in ridiculous races. It was only mildly infuriating to see that Damianos had stopped at the exact spot Laurent would have chosen. 

“This will do,” Laurent said.

“I’ve been leading armies since I was seventeen. I know how to choose somewhere to make base.” He was already setting a fire and heat was a welcome prospect indeed. “We have the best vantage here,” he said. “And this is public land. I checked.”

“Is it not all your land?”

“Not tonight,” Damianos said, as he flinted sparks into the darkness. “I think I was unkind to you last night —”

“I do not need your kindness.”

“I’m trying to make amends.”

“I don’t need that either. Unless you want to go back a few years,” Laurent said. “No? Pass me that weight. It won’t do if the research blows away.”

He felt the moment stretch and knew that Damianos was considering what next to say. It was almost intriguing, the thought that he would continue to seek forgiveness. He felt it, too, when Damianos let the moment go. The fire came to life. Laurent fetched the little weight himself.

“Touars,” Damianos said, then. “One of your angrier border lords. Could be be the T those boys were referring to?”

“Ravenel is too far for a midnight jaunt and I do not see that they would call him by anything but his full name,” Laurent said. “But it is right of you to consider it.” The southern nobility were indeed the most vocal about Auguste’s surrender of Delfeur. Touars was indeed a war hungry man. 

“I’ve been dealing with unrest for quite a few months now,” Damianos said, then. “That’s why I’ve been gone from Ios for so long.” He twisted his lips as he spoke, as if tasting something unpleasant. “Vaskians to the East. Veretians to the North. Our poor Patran neighbours struggle. It’s a untenable situation.”

“We are in agreement on that much.” And no more. Laurent would not allow it. No matter how much Damianos pretended at pleasantry. Laurent knew the capabilities of this man. He knew the capabilities of Akielos.

“We could have conducted this as a mutual initiative without the subterfuge.”

“Yes but with double the cost, scrutiny and half the results.”

“Why the stars?” Damianos asked. “If it’s not already a particular hobby of yours.”

“It might be.”

“No. You would not have chosen it as a cover if that was the case.”

Laurent sighed. “There is value in it, as you know. Directions. Maps. There’s a whole other world up there to guide us mere mortals.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I do not owe you an answer.”

Damianos said, “You were meant to be open with me.” He said over the top of the fire, with the shadows making new shapes of the shadow on his jaw. He said it like Laurent’s reticence was a hurtful thing. Fool. How else would it be between the princes of barely peaceful nations? If he had never gone to Auguste’s tent that night and war had ended some other way, Laurent could never be amiable with Damianos of Akielos. That was the fact of it.

No matter how many hangdog expressions passed over his stupid symmetrical face.

It wasn’t up to Laurent to coddle him. It wasn’t his problem that no-one ever told Damianos no before.

“Astronomy was always something I always intended to learn. I know, I know, the dilettante prince had plenty of time since he wasn't serving in the army as his brother did. But, well, idleness is another personality flaw to add to this list along with mean, cold and frigid. ” Laurent said, then. “Anyway, now is as good a time as any.”

Damianos looked up at the sky. The clouds were sparse again and the stars were bright. He made no effort to hide the fact he was searching the wide open space for something recognisable. Laurent thought how he would never have been so open about something he didn’t know. 

“They are not all visible from here,” Laurent offered. “Or at this time of year.”

“I am not looking for all of them.”

“Which one?”

“Are you planning on helping me?”

“No. There’s a guide on that chart. Find it yourself,” Laurent said. He stepped closer to the fire, spreading open his fingers to let the warmth seep in through his skin. It was cold at night, no matter what you wore. Laurent did not like being out in the cold. He did not like how Damianos took his attention away from the papers and focused it on him. “What?”

“You truly are not used to this kind of activity.”

“Go ahead,” Laurent said. “You cannot say anything about my lack of ambition, honour and military drive that has not been said about me before.” By himself, usually, to get in there first. 

“I wasn’t going to say those things. I —” Sharp as a hunting dog, Damianos looked towards the treeline. “Raiders,” he said. “Be ready to defend if —”

Laurent swallowed. Yes, there was every chance that men on the rampage from Vere would be capable of attacking two lone scholars. He’d never really been in a real fight. What if it was different to practice? What if he forgot what to do? “Stand down,” he said. “Don’t draw suspicion.”

Their fire did nothing to stop the few men that trotted towards the farmland. Their mood billowed out ahead of them -- violent as a thunderstorm -- these were no bored men with a penchant for public urination. They radiated anger so ugly the air thickened. Damianos stood like a man about to charge as Laurent heard them speculate, then dismiss both himself and the prince of Akielos as simple travelers. That was the plan, of course, but it still rankled. 

“Stay where you are,” called one of the Veretian men. “And you won’t get hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt,” Damianos muttered. “This is trespass.”

Laurent stepped back, slowly, avoiding the fire to stand closer to Damianos. 

“Wait and see.”

“They’re vandalising that land. Destroying crops.” And then, they both saw the swell of a torch. “I will not watch my property be destroyed, Laurent.”

“We are meant to be under cover,” Laurent hissed, but it was too late. Damianos was mounting his horse and galloping towards the men. Laurent could only watch, as he rode them down and captured all five with his hands and some rope and the sheer force of his strength. It would have been impressive if Auguste had done it or if it wasn’t five young Veretians he marched back to the little camp. 

Damianos made all five face the ground, with their backs to Laurent. Great. He was going to have to stop Damianos from killing his countrymen. Destroying Akielon property and disobeying the crown prince was not something to be taken lightly.

“That was not the plan.”

Damianios ignored him. He let out three sharp whistles and more horses and more men came towards them after a short delay. Akielon guards.

That was not the plan either. 

“Take these men to the dungeons, Atkis,” Damianos said. “Stavos, check in with patrol and see how the hell these worms got through the border. Elon, send the messengers to see if anything similar happened elsewhere.”

All of this without acknowledging Laurent. It may be his country but these were his subjects. And then they were gone, lashed to horses and being dragged back to Marlas. They hadn’t even spoken. Should have spoken for them? He felt a pain in his throat, suddenly, at what it was like to not be allowed to use your voice.

“Shall we pack up?” Damianos said. “Or do you think that might have been a decoy? We can —”

The nerve of him. 

“This is my plan,” Laurent spat.

“It’s half-baked at best,” Damianos replied. “And you should be thanking me.”

“What?” 

“I just stopped your people knowing of your presence here and saved you the political nightmare of having to punish your own subjects for crimes against the country you despise and destruction of property that we both know you do not recognise as belonging to Akielos.” He threw dirt on the fire. A hiss and the flames were gone. “Don’t worry. I’ll just add it to the list of things about which you should be thanking me.”

Shocked, irritated, Laurent could not think of a response that would befit a prince.

So he told Damianos of Akielos to fuck off and creased his carefully chosen charts shoving them back into the satchel. 

“You couldn’t even identify a constellation,” Laurent said, minutes later, while Damianos acted like a sniffer hound tracking the route through which the Veretians had approached this nothing plot of land in this shithole country. This wasn’t even farmland - just scrub and trees. “What do you think poking around will do?”

Damianos ignored him.

“I’m speaking to you,” Laurent said, making his way across the dewy grass and adding rudeness to the long list of things he did not like about Akielons, this one in particular. 

“Are you —” Damianos gritted his jaw. “First rule of getting caught - drop anything incriminating. I’m checking, your highness, to see if they left any kind of evidence behind. You’d know that if —”

Laurent did know that. He was…Damianos made him forget how to be himself. He made him a scared thirteen year old, sometimes, and a frustrated eighteen year old the rest of the time. No-one liked their flaws pointed out. No-one else would speak to his face like that.

“Did you find anything?” Laurent interrupted.

“It’s not too late to sign up,” Damianos said. “You’re so young still.”

“Did they leave any evidence?”

“Would I still be crouching in the dirt if they did?”

“Get up, then.” Laurent said it just for something to say. Damianos stood and Laurent remembered how tall he was and how strong he was. He raised his chin, a challenge, and Damianos seemed confused again.

“I’m going back to Marlas,” he said.

“Where else would you be going?”

Damianos sighed. No, he inhaled and exhaled before mounting his beast of a horse. “You know,” he said. “Your reputation as a witty and incisive conversationalist precedes you. So far, you have not lived up to that.”

Laurent took the blow, and squashed it down to nothing. He’d read once that you could only fold a piece of paper twelve times. He hadn’t tried to disprove the theory. That would be childish. But he had learned a little of the art of paper folding instead. 

He wasn’t naturally good at physical things. So maybe he had cultivated other things — like the art of talking (arguing and cutting, Auguste called it), observing and acting by himself — and he’d thought he was quite good at them. 

Until Damianos. 

Who turned him petty and slow.

“Perhaps I’m dumbing myself down for your benefit,” Laurent replied. 

“Well,” said Damianos, “Don’t.”

That’s not what Laurent thought he would say.

It didn’t seem to be what Damianos thought he would say, either.

“The spear is to your left,” he said, then. “I spotted it, easily.”

“I didn’t —” Oh. The Spear. The long, straight constellation that looked like it was shot out of the moon. “That’s easy. Beginners can spot that.”

“I hardly became an expert overnight, Laurent.”

“Do you remember the story?” They had their horses slowly picking their way over the grassland now. 

“I hardly forgot it since I read it today, Laurent.”

“Stop using my name. Someone will overhear.”

“I remember it from when I was a boy,” Damianos continued. “There was a man who was the best hunter in all the land. There was a monster in the forest and he went out to catch it. But he couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried.”

“He wasn’t the best at all,” Laurent said.

“He chased the monster to the edge of the forest, and he knew that it would either fall of the edge of the cliff or he would catch it. Those were the only options.”

“There’s always another option.”

“Because the monster was nothing they had seen before in Artes,” Damianos continued. Laurent wasn’t looking at him. Why would he? But he thought that if he did, Damianos would be smiling. You could hear it in his voice. “The monster had wings and when he got to the edge of the cliff, he beat those wings and took off into the skies.”

“I wonder did anyone consider if it was just a large bird,” Laurent offered.

He looked then. He was right about the smiling.

“The hunter couldn’t bear to kill something so unique,” Damianos said. “But he knew the people expected him to try. So he threw the spear into the sky, and for the first time ever he missed the target. It went too high, too far west, and lodged itself in the stars themselves.”

“No,” said Laurent. 

“Excuse me?”

“That’s not how it happened. I know this story. He was … angry. The hunter threw the spear after the monster. And his own hubris, his own impotent rage sent the spear awry. The old gods left is there as a punishment.”

“That’s not how it goes,” Damianos said. 

“I know how it went,” Laurent said. His horse pulled on the reins, then, and it was so unlike her to be antsy that Laurent’s attention was needed elsewhere. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, doing two POVs kinda leads to two 'establishing' chapters. i hope this didn't read as too slow or repetitive. as always, thanks for reading and thanks for your interest if i still have it. thoughts/comments are very very welcome an appreciated


	3. Chapter 3

It would be rude to interrogate these captured Veretians without their prince present, so Damen was forced to wait until Laurent had hammered out some agreement regarding trading on waterways. Thrilling stuff. Of course, Damen did not think Laurent cared much for manners but Damen was trying to do the right thing. He also knew it was important to show that Akielos took such vandalism seriously. You fix the first crack in a wall, you don’t wait for it to collapse. As far as he was concerned, the men never should have made it across. The current border patrol would be sanctioned and Damen was already putting measures in place for further training and the placement of more men at pertinent points.

The whole point of having guards here was to stop things like this from happening.He had diverted a large part of his own troops for the task. If the leaders of a country could not keep those who would do it damage out, then they were not very good leaders.

“You know,” Damen said, when Laurent deigned to join him at the entrance to the fort holding cells. “This really is more pressing than the trade negotiations. You could have delayed.”

“The harbour master was only here today. I could not have delayed.”

“If you say so.”

“You would leave a professional man who traveled days to be here waiting because of some peasants?” Laurent asked.

“No,” Damen said. “I would delegate. But I’m not the one hiding my true intent from my king.”

It was just a suspicion at that point — that Laurent’s nocturnal activities were not ordered by his king. But the flash of shock on Laurent’s face confirmed it. He was acting of his own accord. So much for the tales of steadfast loyalty to the older brother. 

“My brother trusts me to handle state matters without seeking approval for every move,” Laurent replied. “Does your father not? Ah, I see why those letters put you in foul mood.” Needling, to avoid admitting the truth. 

Damen saw right through him, and still he reacted to the words.

“I do not keep things from my father.” The mood, he could not deny. Though, really, he did not need to explain it. Laurent had never seen Damen truly annoyed. In fact, Damen had been trying hard to be congenial these past days. “So, what do you intend to do with these men?” 

At Marlas, they were well treated. He had made sure. The multitudes of guards were just a scare tactic.

“They are your prisoners.”

“They are your subjects. We always send them back, as I am sure you know.” These were not the first Veretians caught up to no good on the wrong side of the border. 

“Always?” 

“Yes.” The question confused Damen. He kept getting drawn into these roundabout conversations with Laurent. The Prince of Vere had a nature as magnetic as his looks. “I wish to interrogate them first,” he continued. “The violence has escalated. The frequency has increased. There is —”

“Every reason to believe that men like these are being encouraged.” Laurent followed Damen through the dungeon door. “By all means, Damianos, see what you can get out of them.”

Damen, as a warrior prince, was amply skilled in obtaining information from suspects and enemies. Campaigns were often won long before a battle, with the right piece of information obtained at the right time. When he had a mission, Damen could be objective. He did not feel any particular way about doing what needed to be done. But under Laurent’s watchful gaze, after that challenging statement, Damen felt less than comfortable with employing his usual techniques. It was not a moral issue, per se. It just seemed wrong that he was getting his hands dirty while the pristine Prince of Vere leaned casually against the wall.

The men offered nothing of use. They were only having a laugh. Akielos did it, too. It was an accident. It just got out of hand. Of course they were angry. They had no jobs. These lands used to be their’s. They meant no harm, just got carried away.

It was all so… juvenile. 

Beneath the attention of a crown prince, except this crown prince was still looking for distraction. And he was not above using his skills and size to scare people into submission when necessary.

“Enough,” Laurent said. “They don’t know anything.”

It was only when he stepped out of the shadows that Damen realised Laurent was not visible to the shackled men the entire time. Bathed in torchlight, ending their interrogation, the golden prince was a welcome sight to these Veretian vandals. His presence caused the air to change. Damen suppressed an eyeroll.

“Really?” Damen muttered. “This hackneyed trick.”

The prisoners made as much obeisance as they could while chained. To be in the presence of their prince was a heady thing for most farm boys

Most people. 

“Tell your soldiers to set them free,” Laurent said.The men, who were really boys, sagged with relief. “We will escort them back to their homes personally.” 

The mens’ relief was short lived. 

-  
The prisoners were placed in wagons and a large guard assembled for the short journey across the border to the small village of Sarjols. Damen’s guards were thin-lipped, which meant they were inwardly uncomfortable with this plan. Nikandros was outwardly uncomfortable with the plan. 

“He nearly reduced the fisheries man to tears this morning,” he said. 

“And how is that relevant?”

“He’s too good at acting,” Nikandros said. “You haven’t seen his full capability.”

“And the negotiations?” 

“They are ongoing. The prince of Vere is more of an adversary than you give him credit for.”

Damen thought that perhaps, beneath the disdain, some part of Laurent was intimidated by him. Not as the man Laurent was now. But that being around him made him feel like the boy he had been that night during the war. Certainly, he saw no evidence of Laurent being any better behaved in his company. He was both antagonistic and reserved in equal measures. But Damen also trusted his friend’s assessment and vowed to continue to be wary around Laurent. 

He was wary in general these days.

“It’s a short trip. I’ll be back for dinner,” Damen said, then smiled, embarrassed with himself. “I’m talking to you like a wife.”

“Forgive me for interrupting.” Laurent wheeled his horse in beside them. 

Nikandros ignored him. “If that’s your way of calling me a nag then —”

“It’s my way of saying do not worry. I’m not afraid of Vere.” Damen nudged his horse into action and they left Marlas again.

He really was not afraid of Laurent or Vere or whatever this time would throw at him. He wasn’t afraid of much. That wasn’t difficult, when you had an entire country at your back. Laurent seemed genuine about avoiding conflict. Yes, the kidnap or killing of the crown prince would be a sure fire way to start another war. But Damen wasn’t afraid. He didn’t know enough of the younger brother but he did know Auguste was not the type for such subterfuge. The King of Vere had a simpler nature than his subjects.

“You are close,” Laurent said, out of earshot of their guards. “You and the kyros.”

“We are old friends,” Damen replied, pleased with the easy tone of the conversation. “Our fathers were old friends. Nikandros and I played together as boys in Ios.”

“Friends?” Pointed.

So much for easy.

“Yes.” Damen looked at Laurent out of the side of his eye. “Why? Do you like him?” 

Nikandros found Laurent endlessly irritating. Damen could tell. The thought of his friend being the recipient of any kind of romantic intentions was downright hilarious. They said Laurent was frigid but perhaps he just hadn’t met the right person yet, someone to thaw that icy exterior.

“That’s not what I was asking at all,” Laurent said.

“We are close,” Damen said. “I am quite sure either of us would do most anything for the other. Is that what you meant? He will come storming across the border with the might of the Akielon army if you try anything.” 

“Yes, yes. You are much beloved by your people.”

“I still don’t know what you are asking.”

“In Akielos,” Laurent said. “It is acceptable for men to lie with women outside of marriage.”

“It isn’t in Vere?” Damen asked, though as he did recollections of Veretian customs came to him. It wasn’t the sex, it was what it might reproduce they found fault with. Bastards were universally abhorred beyond the border, seen as responsible for all the harm that could befall the country. 

“No. To bear a child outside of wedlock is not acceptable.”

“You can say bastard,” Damen said. “You hate bastards. I understand.”

“I was warned to be economical in my word choice during these talks,” Laurent said. “Your brother is a bastard, after all.”

Damen didn’t want to think about his brother. “Maybe they do cause all the troubles,” he said. “And I am still unclear as to what you were asking.”

“You can lie with women freely. But some people still choose men.”

“Well,” said Damen, feeling the difference in their ages quite strongly at that moment. “It need not be a choice.” He smiled but Laurent did not make any expression at all. “There is no taboo. Certainly, it is less … traditional. You know, Akielons regard such matters as private.”

“Excuse me. I did not meant to overstep.”

“You don’t,” said Damen. “I just mean that there is discretion here. What is unacceptable in Vere would go un-noticed here.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I heard you were asking about women in the fort,” Damen said, and that made Laurent’s expression change. A young prince in a foreign country with no supervision. It wasn’t unexpected that he would want some fun. He did not want slaves. There weren’t very many ladies here as Delpha was too young a province for there to be daughters and sisters of age. “If you…”

“Do not insult me by finishing that sentence,” Laurent said. “That’s not why I was asking.”

“Why then?”

“You don’t know? Oh, well. You will see.”

“Are we talking about the women or sex?” Damen pressed. He was enjoying this glimpse into a more human side of Laurent. As a prince, Damen knew all too well that everything you did became gossip fodder. It was something he had always accepted. People talked about royals the same way they talked about the weather. It didn’t mean anything. Damen had never found it bothersome, because he rarely did anything he was not comfortable with people talking about. Or maybe he was just comfortable in general until just lately. Even the truce that ended the war,well, they still had Delpha didn’t they? He thought that perhaps Laurent was less comfortable with being gossip fodder and cultivated a certain image to prevent that. 

But, here, away from home with another prince it might be time to let that go.

And that was an intriguing concept in a whole other way.

“Is that all you think about?” Laurent responded. Damen enjoyed, too, seeing him squirm. “Neither, really. I was thinking about that man we first saw. With the —” He held the reins in one hand in order make a vague gesture at his covered neck. Damen thought, if Laurent had evidence of love-making there no-one would ever be able to see it. 

“You can call them love bites,” Damen said. 

“Thank you, I’ll pass.” Laurent could pour a river of derision into four little words. “I had thought that perhaps he was out looking for something he could not get at home,” he said. “But if that is not an issue among your people.”

“Certainly not,” said Damen, who was representative of all Akielos had to offer.

“You Akielon men can fuck women, men and boys.”

“Not boys.” Damen did not hide his disgust. “ Nor would any self-respecting Akielon take up with a Veretian.” 

“It was just a thought,” Laurent snapped. “You have been quite fixated on the fact these people are getting across. That was a potential reason.”

“I don’t care for the reasons. I just want it stopped.”

“Yes, we have that in common. Why else do you think I am toting the Prince of Akielos across the border, where he is hated most?”

“And I thought you just liked my company,” Damen said. “Now, if you want other company just tell us your preferences.”

“I have none, haven’t you heard?” Neatly leaping over a puddle of mud in the road.

“But you seem so fussy.”

“Fine,” said Laurent. “The first tenet is that they come willingly. That rules out Akielons and I have ruled out slaves. You are wasting your breath here, barbarian.”

“I bet all the Veretian girls fantasize about your plucking them from a crowd and putting a tiara on their heads,” Damen said. “As a fellow prince of the blood, I understand that…” He stopped because Laurent, briefly, looked quite horrified at the idea. “Not girls, then.”

“I am not talking about this with you. It’s over.”

“You started it.”

“I related it to politics.” 

“You’re the one who acts like outcome matters more than intent,” Damen said. “But Veretians are known to hypocrites.”  
-  
-  
The town was called Sarjols and it was busting at the seams. Once, it had probably been somewhere you pass through on the way to bigger places. But after the war, and what the Veretians called the annex of Delfeur, it had swelled with decommissioned soldiers and displaced Delphans. Tension was obvious, at the sight of Damen and his Akielon guard slowly riding into town. Bared muscles and red-tipped armour stirred old fears in these people. Being dreaded was not something Damen relished outside of a battlefield. And he had niggling suspicion that Laurent had deliberately chosen smaller men for his guard to make the Akielons look more intimidating.

But if they feared Damen, they loved Laurent. Naked admiration was thrown his way along with the petals that lined his path, and Laurent acted as if it was not happening at all. 

“It’s only the starburst,” he said, an answer to a question Damen had not asked. 

They came to a stop in the town square. Laurent dismounted his shining horse and several townspeople near fainted at the sight. Damen, who was less graceful, decided to stay mounted as the men were unloading from the wagons. Several times, Laurent looked like he would begin to speak but he had to wait for his guard to fuss and a makeshift dais to be created with a market stall. 

“Should’ve stayed on horseback,” Damen said to him. He received in answer a withering look.

“These men were apprehended in Akielos last night, where they were destroying Akielon property,” Laurent called, in a clear voice to a silent crowd. “In Akielos, as in Vere, the penalty for vandalising that which belongs to the crown is death.” He really wasn’t doing Damen any favours here. “However, in the spirit of reconciliation between our countries that sentence has been waived and these men have been returned to their homes. You can thank Damianos of Akielos for that.” 

Laurent looked in his direction, which was enough for the entire town to look in his direction. 

“Don’t react,” Damen ordered his guard, as murmurs came his way along with the looks.

 _“King-killer,”_ came a hiss and Damen had to order himself not to react. He had…he would never. But the venom was genuine. He could taste the hatred in his own mouth. 

Laurent continued. “Vere does not tolerate our people committing crimes in or outside the border. Each man will be fined ten percent of his yearly income for his crimes. Each man will recieve five lashes. Let this be a lesson to the rest of you.” He looked through the crowd, who were less loving now. “Travel into Akielos, including Delpha, is banned without a permit. Anyone caught disobeying with receive less generous punishments than this. Proceed.” To his guards, who began the less than pleasant task of securing unwilling men to whipping posts. 

Damen could see now, that Laurent had not chosen this spot at random. There were several posts for torches and securing horses throughout the square.

Logically, this was a fair punishment. It could have been worse. Lashes were not something Damen had personally experienced, nor were they a form of punishment he chose to mete out in his role as commander. It was his thinking that a good leader disciplined those under him consistently so that it never became necessary. Logically, it made sense for Laurent to deter further transgressions. If any land owner or lord but Damen had caught these men, they may have rotted in Akielon dungeons or worse. Fights happened a lot between ordinary citizens. And with the tense situation at the border, there could be no juvenile high jinks. Before he had come to Marlas, Damen had spent time further west with the General Makedon working to prevent attacks on the defenseless villages in his territory

But logic went out the window, when you were about to watch a beloved family member get whipped.

These people could not and would not show anger towards their prince, but they happily shoved it Damen’s way. He ignored them. They needed an outlet, as leather sliced the air in the square and the bare flesh of these stupid boys. The lashings were neither rushed nor hurried. Each strike weighed as much and caused as many winces as the rest. Only the soldiers, current and former, and the princes did not react.

“Make sure they are cleaned up,” Laurent said, and did not look at any of the men further. Damen’s guards had moved to a tighter formation as the mood of the crowd turned on him. 

_King-killer._  
Aleron’s death at Marlas had nothing to do with Damen. He hadn’t seen it. Auguste didn’t even know until later, long after he had broken rank, that his father was dead. At the time, Damen had been pleased in logical, detached way. There was no-one left who would fight back against his army. Auguste had the potential to be a friend king to Akielos. Not now, but later when Damen took the throne. The arrow that took down Aleron was the final nail in this bloody coffin of a war.

The words were repeated around him now. Words of a people who had waited a long time to express anger and disgust for their perceived injustices. The facts of didn’t matter — their king was dead, and here was the future king of the country that brought the whole bloody occasion to their door. Damen started to feel like he was the spectacle rather than the whipped men.

Laurent did not call for order, perhaps from a fear that he would be obeyed. Damen, from his vantage point on his horse, saw Laurent take the hand of an elderly lady, admire some wares on a ceramic stall and then admire a plump baby with the same polite expression. Damen did not come here to watch the Prince of Vere charm his subjects. By the feeling of the crowd, who needed an outlet for their frustration, and by the way his guard were pressing together, Damen knew this could quickly get messy.

And, really, it was wrong enough that he had crossed into Vere for the very first time in his life without going through any of the official protocols. He wasn’t about to start a riot, too. He’d already brought shame on himself through poor decisions. He was already testing his father’s high opinion of him.

“We leave,” he told his men. And they did.

However, they did not get far down the cobbled streets when an older woman stood right in the way of the horses.

“Go around,” Damen said. But she kept blocking their route. “Don’t touch her.” Akielon soldiers laying hands on a middle-aged mother wearing an apron was not good for public opinion. 

Damen really did want for Vere and Akielos to be friends. He wanted to believe that the honour he witnessed in their king could spread throughout the entire country. He braced himself for another onslaught of insults. He received a different kind of anger.

“What are you going to do about the animals in your own country?” she demanded. 

“That is not your concern,” said Atkis. “Step aside.”

“What animals?” Damen was tempted to break through the guard to speak properly with this women. In Akielos, he would have crouched to her level. But his distrust of Vere still lingered, and he reminded himself this could all be a ruse to catch him unguarded. There were plenty of people here who would like to hurt the prince of Akielos,

“After what they did to Tisbe, they ought to be strung up,” the woman ranted. 

Could that be the T they heard referenced in the fields?

“Who is Tisbe?” Damen asked, as Laurent and his guard rode up beside him.

“Making friends?” Laurent asked, casually, in Akielon. “Don’t wander. It’s dangerous."

Like Damen needed protecting. 

“Who is Tisbe?” he repeated. And the name clearly registered with Laurent, too. 

“Come with me,” the woman said, and she was still shaking with anger. “I’ll show you.”

Laurent made one of those irritating Veretian shrugs. “Why not?”

-  
When you’re a prince with several guards at your disposal, you either hang back or take the lead. In this instance, Damen hung back and sent his men on ahead to follow the woman and make sure they weren’t being lead to a trap.

“King-killer?” Damen said to Laurent.

“Never heard that one before? Never mind. Auguste, fool that he is, denies it. Officially.”

“You call your king a fool.”

“I call my brother a fool when there is no-one else around,” Laurent said. 

“You don’t think —”

“No, I have ample reason to dislike you without that particular rumour.” 

“When this is over,” Damen said. “I would like to explain the truth of that time in the tent. Laurent, I —”

“Enough. We are — there is no need. I am not interested.” Their guards were back. There was no danger. 

So Damen found himself in the cramped kitchen of a Veretian cottage, while Laurent gave very precise instructions about he liked his peppermint tea. The angry woman boiled water, which Damen half-expected to be flung across his head. Her husband had calmed her, somewhat, and the presence of Laurent did the rest. 

“Your highness,” the man began.

“Those are lovely drapes,” Laurent said, with a glance to pair of curtains that were not lovely at all.

“Thank you, my daughter sewed them,” the man said. “We had thought —”

“”We had thought our Tisbe would make a good match with the haberdasher from Fortaine but that won’t happen now.” The woman slammed a tea tray onto a rickety table. 

“None for me,thank you.” Damen said, fearing poison. Also, he didn’t think there was any graceful way for him to pick up a cup with such a tiny handles. He was already feeling over large for the chair he was sitting on. 

“And I thought Akielons love to take,” the woman muttered.

“Prince Damianos is fluent in Veretian,” Laurent said. “Now, about your issue…You may be aware I am come south on behest of my brother the king in order to foster friendly relations between our two countries. If you know something that could help, or prevent, that happening now is the time to share.”

“We don’t know anything about this ridiculous raids,” the woman said. “I know that’s all you care about.”

“But I can see why those boys do it,” the man said.

“I cannot help if you do not speak up,” said Laurent.

“It’s Tisbe. Our daughter. She’s …” The woman gestured to her own stomach. “There will be a child.”

“I see,” said Laurent.

Two princes, with much to do, drawn into some kind of domestic issue. 

“I don’t see,” said Damen. “What this has to do with me.” 

“One of your Akielons put the child in her belly,” the woman said. 

Laurent cut Damen off before he could speak. “I understand how difficult this is.”

“Your highness,” said the man, “I am not sure you do. Tisbe is a good girl. She … it was not her choice.”

Damen went very still. “One my my men raped your daughter. That is the cause of the anger.”

“Cause enough,” the woman said. “Can you think of a better cause?”

“Could she tell us who? My lady, I promise you that is not tolerated in my country.” Some crimes were beyond a king’s control. People were people. People could be rotten. But it was not acceptable, highly punishable. They had worked so hard to keep men like that out of the army, indeed out of society. It felt like a personal failing for someone from Akielos to have perpetrated such an awful crime.

“She’s very distressed,” the man said. “She hoped to spare her mother and me the upset but…then.”

A baby could not be hidden. And here, where unmarried men and women did not lie together, it could not even be passed off as coming from a nicer start. 

“Is your daughter here?” Laurent asked.Unlike Damen, he did not sound appropriately dismayed at this allegation. “May we speak to her?”

“She’s very upset,” the woman said. “Seeing him —” A glare at Damen, who represented Akielon masculinity in one very large nutshell. “It’s too much.”

“Is that a good idea, your highness?” asked one of Laurent’s guards. He, too, received a glare.

“She’s already pregnant. I think both our reputations can handle it.” 

“This way.” Tisbe’s father stood. “She’s not gotten out of bed much lately.”

Damen expected to see a belly first and a girl later, when they were lead into a bedroom big enough for a narrow cot and little more. But this Tisbe was not showing much of her pregnancy yet. All he knew about pregnancy could be written on a tinderbox, but in Ios it was not something to be hidden. Women stayed mobile until the end of their time. 

To her credit, Tisbe, a slight girl with big brown eyes and freckles on her nose, was not overly shocked by the appearance of two princes in her bedroom. 

“His highness wants to help you,” her mother said. “The big one says he will punish the —”

“No!” Tisbe said. “Your highness, forgive me. This is not necessary. There are more important things. I just…can’t I just forget it?

Laurent made the mother leave before he spoke. “Tisbe, you are under no obligation here. But your condition makes it a little difficult to forget, don’t you think.”

Damen was conscious of the girl’s discomfort. There were so many things about her situation that would cause discomfort. But, also, he could not forget the news that an Akielon had raped a Veretian girl. 

“Was the man known to you?” he asked.

“We don’t know any Akielons.”

“Was there anything identifiable about him?”

“It was dark. It was a long time ago.”

“How long?” Laurent asked. If they had a date, they could at least see who was in the area at the time. 

“A few months. Three. Four.”

“Where did it happen?” 

“Just outside of town.” Tisbe’s voice shook.

“What time of day?”

“I- evening, maybe?”

“What was the weather like? Did you come straight home?”

“I think you should stop now,” Damen said. “ Lady Tisbe, do you know who I am?”

She nodded. 

Damen said. “Do you know that my country takes this very seriously? I want to do everything I can to catch the cretin who attacked you.”  
“I’m sorry,” Tisbe said. “I didn’t know my mama would bring you here. I don’t mean to cause this trouble.”

“She’s not going to tell us anything,” Laurent said. Damen thought that this was really not the time for his cold, clipped ways. “Tisbe, what you’ve said is very serious. There is help to be had if you tell the truth.”

Damen didn’t like this at all. “Perhaps we should go,” he said. “The girl is upset.”

“I am sorry,” she said. “Truly.”  
-  
A fruitless visit, indeed. Damen left Sarjols with no more understanding or information than he had that morning. He left with hisses and insults, that he instructed his guard to ignore again, because these people could hate Akielos to their hearts desire.

“What else do they say? Other than king-killer?” Damen asked Jord, who seemed the most sensible of Laurent’s guard.

“I don’t want to offend you, your highness.”

“Speak plainly.” 

Jord spoke when Laurent nodded. “That girl is not the only girl to make such allegations,” he said. “It’s a terrible thing to bear a bastard in Vere.”

“That’s not what the prince asked, Jord.”

“Fine. They say your people kidnap pretty young folk and trade them as slaves. They say you are bloodthirsty, violent, cruel and it’s only the king’s immoderate sensibility and sacrifice that keeps Vere safe from your terrors.”

“Sorry you asked?” Laurent arched one brow.

“No.”

“Shall I get someone to tell you what they say about your brother?”

“No.” Damen looked at him. “Shall I tell you how your attitude to that girl was unacceptable? Or that it was wrong to limit freedom of movement like that? Or perhaps that this journey was a complete waste of time.”

“Limit freedom? That’s rich. You keep slaves. They wear collars.”

Damen didn’t want to talk about that. “Why were you so thoughtless in the cottage?”

“I — I don’t have to explain myself to you. Especially regarding my subjects.”

“We do not traffic people. They are born into slavery. Some choose it later in life. We do not take it from them,” Damen said. 

“You took children from Delfeur. That bedboy of yours —”

“I don’t have a bed boy.” Damen couldn’t hide his disgust. He was not interested in any one so young as to be called a boy.

“The slave who looks scared all the time.”

Erasmus. “That’s not your business.”

“He is quite fair. Do you know where he came from?” Laurent pulled his horse in closer to Damen’s. “You do not get to judge me, Damianos. I come from a country who have been killed, conquered, kidnapped and apparently raped by yours. Look at your own house before you dare —”

“When did I judge you?” Damen asked.

Laurent did not answer. He did not say anything else.  
-  
At Marlas, over thick red wine, Damen turned to Nikandros and said, “King-killer? You might have warned me.”

“I assumed you knew. What other slander did you have to bear?”

“Where to start?” Damen said, and quickly filled his old friend in on what had transpired at Sarjols. He left out Laurent’s cold attitude. He was surprised that Nikandros agreed with the travel rules. It was not the Akielon way to do the same. But they had hardly been the ones carrying out raids. There had been one, and it was a retaliation, and Damen had made sure the people in that area knew there could not be a second. “They believe us to be monsters,” he said. “They think we will take their children in the night. How can we have good relations while that continues?”

“We did take back Delpha. Wounds of war take time to heal.”

“But —” Damen did not continue. Nikandros was not wrong. They had been brutal, in order to take what was rightfully their’s. There had been a lot of deaths before the surrender. If Vere had tried to expand into Sicyon, Akielos would not be forgving. Ninety years after Vere took Delpha, they fought bloody murder to get it back. He sighed. “You think it ends when the war ends.” A handshake with a golden prince. The promise of a brighter future. The younger brother, glaring ice blue in the background. “But that’s really when it starts.”

“You sound more like a king every time we speak, Damen.”

“Tell me it’s not true. We are not taking their people as slaves. Not even criminals or orphans. We have to send be sending them back.” 

“It’s not…no-one is doing that here.”

“I have learned,” Damen said, with a huge amount of regret. “That I am not very good at seeing what’s right under my nose.”

“I’ve had letters from Ios, too, and —” Nikandros was taking the opportunity. Damen could see it. 

“No. That’s not what I meant.” 

“You only have your guard here. You missed the last summit.”

“We’re talking about Delpha and Vere, not that.”

Nikandros stood, suddenly. It was unlike him to be so free in his movements these days, Damen thought, with no small amount of awareness about the strangeness of that thought. Nikandros said Damen sounded like a king. But even though he had risen high in rank, he had begun treating Damen differently . Like some preparation for the day he would fear an order come from the throne.

“There’s something you should see,” he said. “But, please, don’t tell Laurent of Vere.”

“That’s not much of a condition,” Damen said. They were hardly confidantes. 

“You know me,” Nikandros continued. “I have always followed your father’s instruction. It is my way as kyros. It is the only way I know to rule this place.”

“You are loyal. I don’t need reminding.” Nikandros was Damen’s oldest friend. He was the a good person, a good soldier, and a good kyros. He was unwaveringly devoted to the crown and had only ever spoken negatively about the royal family in, well, one specific case. Kastor. It was no co-incidence that when all that bother happened in Ios, that Delpha was the place Damen fled once the dust had settled. 

“After the war,” Nikandros said. “I was here with all these people. And you know how men can be after a war. The remaining Veretians in this fort, they were frustrated and desperate. Our men were not always best behaved either.”

They were walking now, through torch-lit corridors, lined with lamps and the servants, slaves and soldiers who prostrated themselves at the sight of their prince and kyros. 

“I can imagine,” Damen said, thinking of Tisbe in Vere.

“What was I meant to do? Send them to a country where bastards are reviled? I could not. You…I think you would not either,” Nikandros said. “So they stayed at work here. That was perfectly acceptable. They made a nursery and that was fine, too.”

Damen could see the threads weaving in front of his eyes. Laurent’s questions. The villagers’ contempt. 

“I don’t know how it came to be,” Nikandros continued, and they were coming to the courtyard now and the various outbuildings that edged the space. “But word spread. More women started arriving. Some children, unaccompanied, because they would have a better life free from stigma. Some of the girls stay for the pregnancy and leave the babies behind. Some stay with them, and we find them work.They are paid. They are free to leave. All of them.”

He came to a stop in front of a large stone building. It had been a barn once, and now it was converted to a residence of sorts. 

“It’s late,” Damen said. “We shouldn’t disturb them.” 

But they could see well enough from the window. Clusters of women and children, on low couches around low fires, just reading and talking and sewing and doing things people did. A slave trade, Laurent thought. It was clear now that’s what he had been angling towards before. It was clear he believed Akielos was made of brutes, when Damen had been working to no longer believe that Vere was made of snakes.

“They are not our people,” Nikandros said. “It could…”

“It won’t,” Damen said. “Nothing bad will come of this. You have my word.”

“Do you think the permits will be deterrent enough to keep the peace?”

“There is so much hatred,” Damen said. “I’m not sure I understood how much until today. It might be necessary to recall the armies and use force.”

“You don’t want that?” They were walking side by side through the shadowed hallways, guards following behind. “The young prince of Vere doesn’t want it,” Nikandros said. 

“I can do it.” Damen could lead men well and scare these nuisance into submission. Part of him would relish the simple, regimented ways of conducting a campaign. It would take him away from Ios. 

“Damen.”

“No. I don’t want that. But unless things change rapidly, I’ll learn again that what the future king wants does not really matter. My father made us a country with sheer strength. Who am I to think I can do better?”

“You are not your father. Or your brother. There are —”

“You just don’t want to be in charge of a war torn province.” Damen elbowed Nikandros lightly in the ribs. “You must be getting lazy in your old age.” Neither of those things were true. Nikandros would fight any battle that came and he was far from lazy. He was the kind of dynamic leader they needed in the north. 

“I’ll be behind you no matter what comes,” Nikandros said.

“Thank you.” 

Damen wanted someone beside him, but it was not the time to say it. He looked out the high, open window instead. The sky was dark. The space was too small to see anything significant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! please excuse any mistakes. next chapter, this time next week.


	4. Chapter 4

It seemed clever at the time but the new permit requirement was ruining Laurent’s day. He was used to the machinations of his mind making life harder. But what was tolerable in Vere was horrible in Akielos. He maintained that it was the right thing to do, after those men set the fire, to set limitations on movement across the border. Safer for everyone involved. He had even allowed himself a moment of pride at the swiftness of the decision. It was a commander’s decree, he thought, something Auguste or even that Damianos would see — a quick blow that would lead to the least trouble, despite causing some immediate dissatisfaction.

But it did little for the official reason for his trip to Marlas. Negotiating fair and open trade was difficult when Veretian traders would now need permits. A fruitless morning, and Damianos called the meetings to an end. Nikandros had work to do - like being the kyros of this fledgling province. What Damianos had to do, other than loaf around the fort was anyone’s guess. Auguste spoke of a loyal, diligent future-king when he told Laurent about their letters. Auguste said, he would do anything for his father. But in Laurent’s estimation, Damianos was all too eager to run around the countryside solving little problems. 

Even now, as papers were filed away and worried stewards prepared to do more calculations before the next meeting, Damianos was trying to coax the kyros into sword play. All right, Laurent could detect some underlying tone to the request. It was a little like when Queen Josefine told Auguste he was working too hard coupled with all those times Auguste tried very hard to be a kind brother to Laurent. Perhaps the two had some kind of fight. Laurent did not care. He had…well at this moment he really did not have much else to do

“How will you occupy your free time?” Damianos asked Laurent. 

“Perhaps I’ll make use of some of your slaves. Oh, no, I won’t. I have a moral conscience.”

“All right. I was just being friendly.” Damianos poured water into a shallow cup. There was barely a mouthful in those Akielon vessels. And they claimed they favoured substance over style here. They claimed a lot of things.

_I won’t hurt him. I only want to talk. I am sick of bloodshed._

“That is not necessary,” Laurent said. 

“I want to assure you,” Damianios said. “That there is no crown sanctioned people trafficking taking place in Akielos. If there is anything illegal happening, I will work with you to eradicate it and punish those responsible.”

“A rote response if ever I heard one.”

“Are you so distrustful that you cannot take the word of a prince?” Damianos demanded. “That you would doubt the word of a rape victim. That —”

“What are you doing with your free time?” Laurent asked. 

“Don’t distract me. You treated Tisbe with disrespect and -”

“I do not cast judgment on how you treat your subjects.”

“You’ve done little else since you got here,” Damaianos said. 

“I think she was lying. I think I have seen enough liars in Vere to know the signs,” Laurent admitted. He had thought Damianos would also recognise her reticence as an obvious sign that all was not right with her story. “Perhaps some elements are true but not the whole thing.”

“Who would lie about such a heinous crime?” Damianos asked, then gave a little shake of his head like he knew the answer. “Is there really such bad stigma attached to birthing a bastard in Vere?”

“Yes. It’s worse among the nobility but the commoners are much the same.”

“Why?”

“They sour the milk, ruin the crops, fuck those they shouldn’t and, occasionally, try to kill the heir to the throne. You look concerned. Don’t. I find trueborn men are adversary enough.” Laurent wasn’t quite sure what to do when Damianos acted genuine. He had a sneaking suspicion that it was not an act at all. The only other genuine person Laurent knew was Auguste but brothers were different. You don’t have to watch yourself with a brother. “Oh,” Laurent said, then, because that look on Damianos’s face made him compelled to say something. “I meant no offence to your brother Kastor. I know it is -”

“None taken.” Gruffly. “Where did this belief come from?”

“You speak Veretian fluently and you know so little of our customs.”

“My father insisted we learn the language of our enemies. He did not imagine we would be exchanging ideas.”

“We are not,” Laurent said. “Exchanging ideas. But, since you asked, there was an attempt on the life of King Edgar before he took the throne. He would have been my great grand-father. A bastard in the court tried to kill him, so the Queen killed the perpetrator Asce and all the other false born boys. After that, well…” He didn’t even know why he was talking about this. “In practical terms, it makes sense. You know who people are. When men breed their get in whomever they please, who knows where that can lead?”

“To ruined crops?” Damianos sounded amused now. How quickly he went from some real emotion to amusement. 

“No —” Laurent stopped himself. They were not exchanging ideas. It was only a half-baked idea, anyway. If Damianos was correct about people being born into slavery, then those births must be coming about due to relations between slave and master. That alone was a sad idea but then those child-slaves grew up with no parental knowledge and were thrust into service, it stood to reason that they could inadvertently bed a blood relation. 

That was a grave occurrence in every culture.

But Laurent did not bring it up. It was not a thing you just brought up. It was definitely not a topic Laurent of Vere just brought up, to anyone, because he knew the vicious lies that had been spread back when he was young and naive and trusted the wrong person. 

Damianos, who had to be aware of the awkward way Laurent just trailed off, shuffled among the books and papers on the desk in front of him until he picked up four Akielon books tied together with string. 

“Since you have free time today, these may be of interest to you.” He slid the books, which were bound in rich tan leather across the desk. Actually, only three were Akielon. One was Veretian, the book Laurent had tossed at Damianos a few days ago. The others were Akielon. “Don’t worry. It’s not a gift. I noticed that the Veretian origins for the constellation names were quite different and thought you might be interested.”

“Three books for some mix of science and folklore?” 

“One book. The other is an account of a sailor lost at sea who used the stars as navigation tools.”

“The third?” Laurent would not look at the titles for fear of not immediately understanding them. Damianos spoke far better Veretian than he did Akielon.

“A dictionary.” With a satisfied grin.

“Thank you, I have a Veretian-Akielon dictionary.”

“I know. I’ve seen you consult it.” 

Laurent had thought he was subtle. He hoped the heat on his cheeks was not visible in the dim room. 

“This one is more comprehensive,” Damianos continued. “You can keep it. Auguste has mentioned you like books.”

“Dictionaries hardly count.”

“What nonsense is that? They are the foundations. That’s what is important.”

“And what will you be doing while the permit issue is resolved?” Laurent asked, laying his hands in his lap. A leaned court trick, when you need to hide your emotions. As far as the court at Arles was concerned, Laurent had no emotions. 

“I told some squires I’d teach them to wrestle.”

Of course he did.  
-  
Laurent did not spend the afternoon reading old Akeilon books. He had his work to do - like correspondence and reports and preparations and telling Auguste that yes everything was perfectly fine. He had investigations, which were fruitless. He sent out his men to investigate in the nearby villages and they came back with no information (except maybe there was a midwife and none of them would break chaperone protocol to approach her.)

Useless. If you wanted something done, you had to do it yourself.

Evening fell turquoise above the trees and Laurent was bored. After Damianos’s jibes earlier, he hadn’t given in to do anything that could be construed as fun with his free time. Princes did not have free time, generally. Especially during diplomatic missions. 

Before he lost his nerve, Laurent strode across to the King’s Quarters and knocked three sharp raps on the door. 

It was opened, not by Damianos or a servant, but that wispy blond young woman Lykaios. It shouldn’t have shocked him. She was a slave. By all accounts, she was Damianos’s personal slave. But maybe it was easier to pretend the Prince of Akielos with the warm smile was not so base as the rest of them. A man like Damianos would have no trouble attracting willing lovers. Laurent knew that in theory and Damianos’s reputation meant he knew it fact, too, as much as one could believe reputations. But here was a slip of a girl with a life constructed so that she could not consent, opening the door in a slip of a garment, and Laurent wondered how Damianos had the nerve to judge him for doubting Tisbe. And that was the mild perspective. 

A person who did not consent. A person from whom consent was removed. What was the difference?

“I’m sorry,” Laurent said, and then cursed himself for apologising. “I did not realise the prince was occupied.”

Lykaios was caught in a crisis of etiquette. 

“This..” She stammered. 

“It’s all right.” Damianos put a comforting hand on her shoulder. The girl was so trained, she did not even flinch at the touch. “Laurent, come in.”

“I’m fine here, thank you.” Who knew what evidence of debauchery he would find in the prince’s boudoir. For no reason at all, he felt terribly embarrassed. He thought of Auguste, as a newlywed, and the traditional consummation. Laurent was quite sure that was the reason his brother held off officially placing him on the council (at least that’s what he hoped. Lots of people thought he was incompetent.) And the fact that he had not ventured into his brother’s apartments since. The nobility in Vere were not shy about sex. But Laurent was…awkward. 

“Was there something you wanted?”

Laurent prepared to launch an insult or a challenge but then his discomfort might be obvious.

“Are you engaged for the evening?”

“What? No.”

“Finished, then? I heard you go back to your rooms just a few minutes ago.”

“Listening out for me, then?” Damianos leaned against the doorframe. It was a wonder it didn’t crack under his weight. If it hadn’t been Veretian originally, it probably would have. 

“What I did at Sarjols was putting a bandage on a gangrenous wound,” Laurent said. “There’s more afoot in our countries than bored peasants.”

“There is no slave trade.”

“Really?” With a look past Damianos’s bulk to the slave girl in his room. 

“Of the sort you are implying.”

“There are agitators somewhere. I know you quashed dissent —”

“There is no dissent among my father’s subjects.”

“I know you have stopped trouble before,” Laurent said. “How do you feel about going out early tonight and seeing if we can’t get some ammunition.”

“All right,” said Damianos. “I can be ready in fifteen minutes.”

“I feel even sorrier for your slave.” Sweeping away. It felt good to have the last word.  
-  
It felt even better to ride out into the countryside on a cloudless night, where the ground was good and the horse beneath was a personal favourite. Granted, the company did not come from his wildest dreams but there was something liberating about abandoning stiff guards and protocol. Damianos was a soldier, a warrior, and went where he pleased. This was probably nothing new to him. He was probably never afraid. 

But for Laurent, it was quite the thrill.

“She is not mistreated,” Damianos said, out of nowhere, as they rode.

“Who?”

“Lykaios. She…none of them are mistreated. I would never force her or anyone. It’s a mutual agreement.”

“Perfect treatment in exchange for perfect submission,” Laurent quoted. “But when do they choose to submit?”

“Did…”

“If you saw did we choose to be princes, then I will lose any modicum of respect I was gaining for you.” Laurent looked across at Damianos. “You don’t need me to explain that. Deep down, you don’t.”

“You’re sure of that.”

“Good instincts.”

“She has been with me a long time. It’s…a comfort. We are close and —”

“So are pets.”

“Human or animal?” Damianos saw the chance to take the upperhand and took it. There was something to respect there, too.

“Cats. Dogs. Birds, even,” Laurent said. “The pets in Vere are of age and choose their contracts. Power is another thing, of course, but there are choices.” He didn’t know what spurred him to have this conversation. Slavery was wrong. The sky was blue. There was no room for debate. West,” he said. Debate over. “There’s a small hilly area by the bend in the main road.”

“I know it,” Damianos replied. “It’s a good place to camp.”  
“That’s why I chose it.”

-  
There was a village near the base of the hill that had been raided twice in the past month. It was far enough from Marlas to have a feeling of being unprotected but populated enough to have things worth stealing. Someone had daubed the words ‘land grabbers’ in Veretian so the source of the thefts were obvious enough. Laurent didn’t necessarily think they would catch any raiders this night, though he was in no doubt that Damianos would give it a fair try if the opportunity came up. In fact, he knew that the real work would be done somewhere other than star-scattered hillsides. Someone on the Veretian side was whipping these peasants into a frenzy. Most likely someone with the initial of T. 

Perhaps information could be found in the backrooms of dirty inns and guardsrooms, and he had some people working on that. It wasn’t as if he could pop in for a pint of ale himself. He was rather recognisable in Vere. Nor could he bring Damianos on such investigations, because he would stand out anywhere.

Not that Damianos was really a consideration. You just notice these things, when the person is beside you.

“Our guards sent people back four times,” he said, when he stopped his horse. Unsurprisingly, he had taken it upon himself to choose the exact spot on the hill to camp. 

“They missed the fifth and sixth time. There was a brawl in an inn just beyond the border.” Laurent, after a quick survey of the clearing, could see no reason not to stop there. Begrudgingly, he admitted that Damianos probably was more capable at outdoor pursuits than himself. “We might see lucky number seven tonight.”

“I’d rather see if there’s some kind of pattern to it. Scouts. Spies. That kind of thing.”

“Really? I thought action was more to your taste.”

“Only when appropriate.” Damianios was quicker than Laurent at making camp, too. So Laurent decided he would be in charge of props, and spread out the charts and guides and tools. “I’ve been thinking,” he began.

“Don’t strain yourself.”

“This star thing,” he continued. “It’s kind of a romantic choice for a disguise. Are you sure —”

“I’m quite sure the answer is no.” Laurent folded his hands on his lap. “We have spoken about this. I was already interested and it was a suitable disguise.”

“Merchants. Mercenaries. Shepherds. Lovers.” Damianos lay the tent canvas on the wooden poles. A flick of those arms was all it took to put it in place. Normally, a second person was required. “All other possible covers.”

“I chose this one. Make your peace with it.” His throat was dry but Laurent would not reach for his water skin. No way would he show nerves.

“I mean,” Damianos said, turning and standing, another easy movement. All his movements were easy. Laurent felt like his joints were made of wood if he didn’t remember to relax them. “That it’s a nice concept.”

“Nice.”

Damianos took a step closer. He said, “In Akielos, this is something one would do with a lover. Lay out under the stars, look for patterns, remember the old stories.”

“We are standing,” Laurent said, reducing the words to bare facts so he could ignore the warmth in the air. “I’m going to see to the horses.”

“I’ll set the fire.”

“Don’t.”

“We need one. Every camp needs a fire.”

“No, I mean.” Laurent wasn’t quite sure what he meant. “Wait until I come back. Show me, then. I never really learned.”  
-  
Damianion was patient and unpatronizing, when he demonstrated how to lay the twigs and spark the flame. A different voice, a different build, a totally different demeanour but he still reminded Laurent a little of his brother. Or at least, the brother he had had before Marlas and all the rest.

“How come you never learned this when you were younger?”

“I never signed up to do my duty and serve in the army.” Laurent figured it was better to say it first. Akielons, particularly this one, valued military service. By all accounts, Damianos trained relentlessly since boyhood expressly to be in tip-top physical shape in case he was called to battle at any moment. The invasion of Delfeur happened in skirmishes and strategic maneuvers. Sanpelier was a walkover for the Akielons. There had been no grand battle. Laurent wondered if he was still waiting for that grand battle. Perhaps Damianos would never be satisfied until he was a true conqueror. It was in the blood. And he was clearly listing for something here away from his palace, like a boat moored but drifting away from the dock.”

“That’s now what I meant.”

“I’m a spoiled, selfish princeling who would rather a servant get his hands dirty. Oh. You’ve got soot on your fingers.”

“I’m only making conversation.”

Laurent sighed. The sigh, leaving his body, took away with it some defenses. It was a new feeling, to be out in the open and still feel somewhat safe. “I meant to. I had some rudimentary training. I was on the field during the invasion. The military is good career for a second son,” he said. “After the surrender, things were tense in Vere. I suppose some things went forgotten.”

“Things,” Damianos said. Laurent steeled himself for probing questions. He had no plans for how he would answer. “Things were not so easy in Ios, either. My brother saw the truce as a weakness. My father…I’ve only gone behind his back one time in my entire life.”

“You were victorious. What does it matter?” Akielos got Delfeur. Damianos was the conquering hero, and he somehow managed to make a friend in Auguste while annexing his land. 

“You’ve got a lot to learn about Akielons and their honour,” Damianos replied. 

“Like how they pretend at it? Don’t worry. I have learned that.” The words flew from Laurent’s mouth an automatic response. They caused a  
flinch to Damianos’s usually relaxed features which caused some small amount of satisfaction in Laurent. 

“I don’t pretend at anything.”

“Which is why you go around like a bear with a sore paw for no apparent reason.”

“Do you have a reason for your contrariness?” Damianos asked. “Actually, what I meant was do you have a reason you choose to share?”

“You forced my brother to surrender,” Laurent said. “I was there. I know. He never…he’s a strong person, a good king. He never would have rolled over if you didn’t employ some less than honourable tactics.”

“You’re ready to do this now?” Flatly. 

“We are not doing anything.”

“It need not have been here,” Damianos continued. “We could have had this exact conversation in the fort. Or via letter. Or —”

“Shut up,” Laurent said, peevish and childish and all the other weak tics he knew himself to have when he was frustrated.

“I will not,” Damianos replied. “Laurent, I didn’t even know you were there that night. I thought…” 

“You would kill the oldest prince and but took me as hostage instead.”

“No.” Choked words but Laurent knew that people were most often horrified by their own misdeeds. “No,” Damianos repeated. “Nothing like that.  
It was a foolish errand, I saw it then and I see it now. I was just nineteen. What did I know of the real world?” 

“I am nearly nineteen,” Laurent said, and tried not to sound peevish again.

“I’d wager you have seen more truth than I had at that age,” Damianos replied, and again, he was open and unpatronising. “I knew Auguste by reputation, by then. I knew his skill, though I had not faced it. And I knew that all who dealt with him deemed him fair. And I was watching my father the king and your father the king make decision after decision that hurt both our countries. Yes, I know we started it.”

“I wasn’t—” Laurent was absolutely going to say that Akielos started it. 

“I was arrogant in the way that only young people can be. I thought why listen to these old men. It will be my country soon and Auguste will have his. Let’s seek him out and see if we can’t come to some wiser arrangement.” He looked around the hillside, where the stars seemed brighter just for being a few feet closer to the earth. “I’d never done anything like it before, sneaking into your camp. I still can’t believe I made it through without detection. I’ve never done anything like it since,” he said. “Until now.”

“I can’t say I’m glad it’s a nice memory for you. For me, it’s rather the opposite. I was bruised for weeks.”

“You probably bruise like ripe fruit.” Dismissive, but from a man who probably believed no training session was effective if you didn’t eave it with a few new bruises. 

“You snuck into my brother’s tent. You meant him harm.”

“I did not.”

“You pulled me from my bed, put your hand over my mouth. You held me down. I couldn’t move —”

“Laurent,” Damianos said, and now the softness with which his said Laurent’s name was somehow more painful than that memory. Because Laurent had blurred things, mud in the bathwater, and now he looked childish again. “You were sitting on a trunk with one knee under your chin. You had your back to the tent entrance and the way the braziers burned made your hair glow.”

“Enough.”

“I saw you and I nearly stopped the whole thing. The younger brother, here on the warfield, when he should have been safe behind concrete  
walls,” Damianos continued, as if he was gone back to that night, as if he had left the hill. “You would have screamed. You would have raised the alarm and not even I could have fought off the entire Veretian army. Would you have done any different?”

“I—” Laurent wanted to say he would not have done it at all. He would have followed protocol regarding parley. Or he would have followed the plan his father and uncle formed to gain victory by catching the Akielons unawares and using their pig-headed notions of insult to weaken them.  
But that was not true. He would probably have tried some similar unorthodox attempt at peace. Wasn’t that what he was doing on this hillside?

“Auguste was asleep. You were awake. You were collateral. It was a commander’s decision,” Damianos said, like he was still rationalising it to himself. “I would never hurt a child.”

“We didn’t know that,” Laurent said. 

“I know. I am sorry for it. You were a child. You didn’t deserve to be dragged into it.” He cocked his head. “You did a valiant job of fighting me off. I had teethmarks for months.”

“I was trying to protect my brother.”

“You still are.” Another look out over the hillside. There were the rolling fields, the patches of stone, the clusters of houses that were in now way distinguishable as Akielos or Vere. 

“You’re not opposed to war. You’re still sure you could beat my brother in battle. You still enforce Akielos’s military although you have no immediate enemies. What made you go to the tent that night?” Laurent did not believe that the same man who was known for a deep love and  
respect for his father would have gone behind his back so easily.

“Why did you go there?”

Against his will, Laurent’s cheeks went red. It was stupid. It was lies. He just wanted to see his brother, the only person who was really kind to him, one more time before the definitive battle. It was nothing but childish affection but it was the night that set the rumours flying, rumours that worked like a counter defense, rumours that had sucked away his voice.

His uncle had said, What was the boy doing there without his brother’s knowledge?

 

And so it began.

But that was after Damianos and the vice-grip and the battle that never was.

“To talk to my brother,” Laurent said. “Why else?”

“Here is the truth,” said Damianos. “Here is something I have never told another person. Not even — no-one. That day in our camp, I saw the bloodlust rise in our men and it made me sick. Away in the royal pavillion, at my father’s shoulder, and all those righteous campaigns beforehand, it was easy to believe in justice and glory. But I saw my men, who I had trained and who I trusted, relish the violence and it made me sick.”

“Because you are so different?”

“Because I was the same. People follow their prince. Soldiers follow their commander. I made them. I had to unmake it and I could think of no other way.”

Finally, honesty that was not cloaked in warped Akielon morality. 

“I see. You wished to assuage your own guilt and you —”

“I didn’t do anything to you or your brother,” Damianos interrupted. “That is what you must accept.”

Laurent said, “Don’t tell me what to do.” He could not think of a better response.

Silence, while Damianos produced a skein of stomach-turning alcohol from his pack. He was one of those men who could drink it without flinching but still gulped and wiped his mouth after. 

“Do you want some?” 

“I told you already, I don’t drink.”

Damianos still held out the wine. He did not ask any questions, so Laurent took the cup and sniffed it. 

“Can’t the crown prince come up with anything better?”

“How would you know the quality if you don’t drink?” Damianos asked. Amused. “Or do you just not drink with Akielons?”

“I took lessons,” Laurent said. Just because he chose not to drink didn’t mean he wanted to be shown up at gatherings for lack of knowledge. Another sniff, and a little sip. He might have been deliberately antagonistic in insulting the wine. It was perfectly drinkable, almost earthy, which felt fitting with the damp soil beneath Laurent’s feet. 

So unlike those palace lessons, he did not spit the wine out.

“It’s going to get cold,” Laurent said.

“Do you think we will see anything?” Again, looking out at the countryside.

Laurent said, “The thorn bush should be visible this time of year. Can you pass me that chart? I’ll show you where to find it.”  
-  
It wasn’t entirely awful, keeping watch for raiders and also watching the stars. Damianos was, annoyingly, quick at catching on when it came to spotting the stars in the sky. He didn’t need Laurent to explain the theories, having read the basics in that book, and simply worked on identifying the visible constellations with muted enthusiasm. Laurent wasn’t quite sure if the enthusiasm was from some competitive streak or the fact that this knowledge might have some military benefit in the future.

“You can rest first,” Damianos said. “I’ll take watch. There’s no danger, I am sure, but there’s no point in us spending all this time out here if we don’t make a reasonable effort to observe —”

“No,” said Laurent. “You rest. I’ll take the first shift.” Some instinct shifted within himself, and he thought of how a bird takes flight in the forest whenever a hunter approaches. An entire night alone out here with Damianos. With anyone. After wine. Without a guard. After that less than subtle overture he had made earlier. Laurent was no stranger to advances. Usually, when someone retreated so quickly it was to lull you into a false sense of security.

“I’m quite used to staying up,” Damianos continued, oblivious. “It’s in our training. No, that’s not a dig. Laurent, it’s fine. You can do it.”

Maybe not so oblivious.

Maybe Laurent had forgotten the need to keep his features neutral out here on the dark mountain.

“Go to sleep,” Laurent said. 

Damianos opened his mouth, as if to say something else, but then just crawled into the tent he had made. It was a well constructed tent, just like the fire, like the location, like the neat lines and arcs he had drawn on the star chart. Laurent began to regret focusing on the theoretical, academic aspects of this cover story. Survival skills were not exactly his strong suit. 

It wasn’t long before the steady breaths of sleeping billowed out from the tent. How nice it must be, to feel so at ease with yourself, to just drop off like that in the wilderness. Laurent pulled his knees up to his chest in front of the fire.

_I didn’t do anything to you or your brother._

_I never would have hurt you._

He told himself it was a revisionist reading of that night. Damianos would say that, now, but his grip had been so tight in the tent that night. Laurent remembered showing Auguste and his uncle the bruises. Conscious then, even among family, of the strangeness of baring your skin. 

He watched for raiders but no-one came.  
-

“You didn’t wake me,” Damianos accused, when the sunrise and the birdsong did. 

“There was no need.” No chance of Laurent getting drawn into some convoluted discussion about his inability to sleep. Then, because he had a lot of time to think on this sleepless night, he said. “You left bruises. I remember them…being inspected.”

“What?” Sleepy, heavy-eyed, stretching out his shoulders. There was something distasteful about witnessing these human moments in someone you hardly knew. 

“That night. During war,” Laurent continued through his dawning embarrassment. “I had bruises all over my chest and back. Fingerprints on my arms. Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I had fought by that time. Did you know they had me on the field, at the back, at Sanpelier and Marlas. I had trained, privately. I’d had bruises. But they were different.”

“I’ve bruised lots of people,” Damianos eventually replied. “But, all right, I accept it. I left a mark.”

“That’s it?”

“I thought we were finished talking about that night,” he said. “Do you want to rehash it all again? If so, you’re going to have to wait while I relieve myself. Or follow me behind the trees. It’s up to you.”  
-  
Damianos was gone a long time. Laurent’s mind wandered to what he could be doing in private, then Laurent’s mind was forcibly clawed back and saddled his horse, offering soothing words that he could give and never recieved. 

“Fresh water,” Damianos said, setting down two heavy buckets. 

“Did you piss in it?”

“Vulgar, aren’t you, for a court-bred brat?”

“You’ve never seen a Veretian court. The stuff that happens there would give you grey hairs,” Laurent said. 

“Display fights and dancing. That’s what the emissaries say.”

“Well, Auguste is a conservative leader. The nobility blame his wife,” Laurent said. “I remember a show in Chastillon,” he continued, detatched. “Hide and seek, they called it. One of the older pets, about your age I suppose, chasing one of the boys. They cheered when he —” Choked. 

He meant to continue but that was nothing to boast about and Damianos was not so easily shocked as lesser ranked Akielons. 

“Our entertainments sound much better,” Damianos smoothly added. “Last time we had display fights, a wrestler from Isthima lasted ten minutes in the ring with me.”

He said it with such fondness Laurent had to sneak a look at Damianos’s face. The expression made him say, “You feel so lovingly about physical pursuits,” and he hoped he had drummed up the appropriate amount of disdain. 

“The loving ones,” Damianos replied, and Laurent could hear the delectation in his voice.

Damianos and a wrestler. That was…interesting. The physicalness of it all. He knew…that his tastes were mostly traditional as far as Akielon standards were concerned. That had seemed a comforting thing, when Laurent did his research before coming here. The resentment was bad enough without adding a sexual component to the mix. It wasn’t vanity, but experience with unwanted suitors, that made him consider it. 

Until he saw the slave boy, who was just a boy, and he was fairer than almost any Akielon would be. Men taking boys was one thing. Men taking men was different. He made himself remember the slave boy, with the most private kind of collars and cuffs, and the shaking hands. He thought of wrongness. He made himself.

“Now who is scandalised?” Damianos said.

“Certainly not me,” Laurent sniffed. “I wonder for the wellbeing of that wrestler though. He’ll probably never leave his island again.”

“He’s probably still recovering.” Proud. “What about you?”

The words were on the tip of his tongue - yes, I am also still recovering from the fright you gave me when I was thirteen — but Laurent chose not to say them. He thought to himself, what would he say if he was in the comfortable cutting atmosphere of Arles.

“He’d never recover if I got my hands on him,” Laurent replied.

And Damianos laughed, up from his belly, and the proud tone remained.

Laurent did not bring up the tent at Marlas again. Not as they picked back down the hill. Not as they trotted through the empty fields. Somehow, they had fallen into a rhythm of silence and teasing. It wasn’t unpleasant for Laurent to keep up with Damianos’s direct jabs. He was used to using words as weapons, though it was more thorny in Vere. It was also a contrast to what he had gleaned of Damianos’s personality before he came south. No-one ever said he was the type for banter and it pleased some self-important part of Laurent to think Damianos was adjusting his ways of communicating for him. 

They came to a heavy wooden gate, too high to comfortably guide the horses over. Laurent, if he felt like it, could have jumped but there was no point in showing off or putting too much strain on his horse. 

“Open it,” Damianos said.

“I stayed up all night.”

“I fetched the water. And built and took down the camp. And packed the packs. And toasted the bread. And —”

Laurent swung down from his horse. Anything to stop the boasting. The fence was heavy but nothing he couldn’t manage. Damianos went through, with Laurent’s horse by the rein, and Laurent closed the fence.

His back was turned. 

He did not see Damianos dismount, or approach, or reach until his arms were gripped tight around his upper body and one leg was hooked at Laurent’s ankles to keep him in place. 

“What —” But Damianos’s big hand came over Laurent’s mouth and countless thoughts careened through his head. The first was that he had been tricked into believing Damianos had any kind of honour and this was an attack. But Akielons warned before they attack. So maybe Damianos had spotted some danger ahead and had acted to protect him. 

“I used less force than this,” Damianos said, breath hot against his ear. “In the tent that night. Nothing. Child’s play really.”

“Stop,” Laurent said, against the palm, and his heart was so loud he hardly heard his own voice. Panic. A natural response to threat. Animal instinct. He knew that’s what was happening.

“Tell me later if you’re bruised. I won’t see on account of all these layers.” Damianos continued. “A sheltered prince who —”

“Stop!” 

And Damianos let go. 

Mostly.

He loosened his grip so that Laurent could move put his hands were still on him. He was spinning him around. He must have been seeing the  
distress Laurent wore on his face like a scar. 

“I was joking,” Damianos said. “Messing. I wanted you to see — when we were boys in the palace Nikandros and I used to play like this all the time. Hiding in alcoves. Catching each other on the saw dust —”

“Thank you, I am familiar the concept with boyish games,” Laurent said, angling away from Damianos’s touch. 

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Let’s just keep going. You’ve made your point.” He fastened the catch on the gate and got back onto his horse. The sweating had stopped. His heart was slowing. That took time. “Shall my word be enough later? Or do you wish to see if my skin is bruised in person?”

“Laurent —”

“I hear slaves are inspected on the block. Is that what you meant?” He spurred his horse to move. The thought came to challenge Damianos to a race. Normal pursuits for normal young men. Damianos was no doubt used to expressing himself in physical ways. The future king of Akielos was known to engage in sports with many people, not just nobility. That’s how men communicated, down here. 

The challenge was on the tip of Laurent’s tongue but he could not force the words out. That was not him. He was not here for that. So he cantered along, and Damianos followed, just at the edge of his view. 

The fields rolled into woodlands near the fort — thick patches of old trees that sucked the light from the sky even as they shed their leaves for winter.

Laurent could hear the steady rhythm of Damianos on his horse behind. He heard his owned forcibly steady breathing as he contemplated what exactly he was going to say when he went back to Arles. _Sorry, Auguste. All I have to show for my trip is some boring trade agreements, a new headache of a law, and suspicions I could not pin down. Oh, and some overnight trips with the Prince of Akielos that I cannot rightly explain._

Distracted, aware that Damianos would do the lion’s share of observance, Laurent was not looking where he was going. He didn’t see the body until it was dangling right in front of his eyes. A young man, swollen from beatings and death, hung from the neck, so freshly dead the flies hadn’t found him yet.

Laurent pulled hard to stop his horse. Damianos skidded to a more graceful stop beside him. The panic was back. Ridiculous. It’s not like Laurent hadn’t seen death before. He had seen plenty. But his skin still crawled, as Damianos touched the dead man’s wrist. 

The touch made the body swing in their direction. A young man with his shirt torn open, and a word beginning with R carved in his chest. You couldn’t see beneath the ropes, but the lovebites on his neck were probably unfaded.

“It’s the man from the first night,” Laurent said. 

“Our cheerful whistler.” Damianos drew his sword. “Get ready to catch him,” he said. “I’ll cut him down.”

It felt like a test, though it was nothing of the sort. But Laurent, though clearly weaker, could not refuse this task. Dismounting, again, he watched the clean swing that sliced the knife and Damianos’s sombre expression. That was all he looked at.

“I thought death was your arena,” Laurent said. “Champion soldier and all that.”

He didn’t expect the dead man to still feel like a person. He didn’t expect the softness of the skin that brushed his hand or unyielding weight as he lay the man on the soft ground.

“You don’t know me very well.” Damianos turned the body over, and grew more sombre as he examined the carving. “That’s Veretian,” he said. “Your people have broken your laws and come here to kill my subjects.”

“Thank you, I can see that.” Laurent brought his hand the back of his neck, then froze. He did not want to touch his own skin. “I also think we know who fathered Tisbe’s baby.”

“Stay with the body. I’ll send for soldiers to transfer him. Inform the family,” Damianos said. “Wrap him in the tent canvas while —”

“No. I mean —” Laurent didn’t quite know except he couldn’t stay alone in the woods. “I’m a faster rider. You stay.”

No waiting for agreement. Laurent flew over the countryside back to Marlas.  
-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, guys! as always, i love to hear what you think.  
> oh, and the stuff about the reason Veretians hate bastards is from the interactive CP map on the Penguin website.


	5. Chapter 5

Death was fine when it was fair. A battlefield, a duel. You make your pledge and you have your fight and you know what can happen. Death wasn’t fine when it wasn’t fair. A young man, probably pulled from his bed by a mob. No called by a worried mother, and he went telling her not to worry. He would be back soon.

It was like that for soldiers, too.

Damen did not want to think about what it was like to have a noose around your neck. The gasping for air and the painful desperation. But it was a disrespect not to think of it as he wrapped the body tight enough for transport. He cut away the noose and there were two kinds of bruises on the neck. A young man in the prime of his life, with the worst insult carved on his flesh.

A lie, if Laurent was right. Not rape. Just forbidden love and a girl so afraid she had to lie. He thought, suddenly, of Jokaste. He could imagine her counseling some scared girl to lie all the same. Then he pushed that thought away, too, and walked out to the edge of the trees to make it easier for the guards to find him. 

Murder and rape accusations. This was the state of things between Akielos and Vere.

This is what he had disobeyed his father and gone to Auguste for those years ago.

He looked at the sky, greyed with clouds, and the same on both sides of the border. This could not go on.

The guards came and with them an older man from the village who knew everyone. He could identify the boy. The soldiers could carry him back home, and the rituals could be done. Damen left instruction for the body to be prepared by the guards before the family saw him. It was not the kind of killing work they were used to but they of course followed his orders. 

“Where is the Prince of Vere?” Damen asked his guard Atkis. 

“Marlas, Exalted. He did not ride back with us.”  
-

“He’s going to cause a riot,” Nikandros said, when he met Damen in the courtyard. 

“Surely it’s contained for now,” Damen replied. Word about the death in the woods couldn’t have gotten out yet. When it did, he would have to work to keep the local Akielons from retaliating. 

Nikandros looked at Damen from the side of his eye. “Perhaps it is different for you,” he said. “But none of us can contain the Prince of Vere.”

Another task to be dealt with. Damen could do that. “I’ll find him.”

Jord, Laurent’s personal guard, hovered nearby and just happened to be returning to his prince. So Damen followed. 

“He is angry,” Jord said. “Half the guard are cowering. I hope I did not overstep here by sending away any servants or slaves.”

“Why is he angry?”

“He needs a reason?” Jord looked over his shoulder. “You don’t know him like we do, your highness. He’s sharp and cruel as a new blade when he wants to be. A right son of a bitch—”

“You speak of your prince like this?”

“He encourages it.”

Damen had better things to do. But he also had to keep Laurent in check for the sake of their kingdoms, if nothing else. Laurent had made himself at home the large room Nikandros had been using to hold meetings. Even without Jord’s guidance, Damen would only have needed to go the opposite direction of the fleeing fort residents to locate Laurent.

“So,” Damen said, marching into the meeting room. “Lack of sleep makes you cranky. Well, it was your decision to keep watch all night so do not presume to pay your mood out on Marlas today. Take a nap, instead.”

“Don’t patronise me. I am not a child.”

“You’re throwing tantrums like a child.” Damen could see the shards of a broken plate beneath the table. The papers on top of it were spread out haphazardly, nothing like Laurent’s usual ordered organisation. “That’s not acceptable. You must treat Akielons with respect or you can leave. Where did you get that?” Laurent was looking at a bound book that belonged in the slave quarters. Their training was a sacred thing, meticulously recorded. It was private.

“Where do they all come from?”

“Where do any of us come from? People are born. Their lives take different paths,” Damen said. “That is not relevant right now and you know it. Veretians have killed an Akielon and accused him of a heinous crime. What are we going to do about it?”

Laurent pushed up from the low bench. “You are hiding something. Maybe the men who killed that boy have no reason to be punished.”

This from the man who didn’t believe poor Tisbe in the first place. The urge to throttle the Prince of Vere was almost overwhelming. This wasn’t a game. It wasn’t some petty personal squabble. The people of both their countries needed leadership and protection and neither would be achieved while Damen indulged a spoiled princeling stretching his legs for the first time away from his brother king. 

Damen wanted to grab Laurent, but he remembered the look on his face at the gate and then that they were no longer alone in the countryside and there were Veretian guards here who would not take kindly to seeing their prince being dragged around like a child’s security blanket. Probably. Nikandros would just have to get over it. Damen was the Crown Prince. He had to show his authority some times.

“Come with me,” Damen said. “Let’s clear this up once and for all.”

He walked fast, not bothering to see if Laurent was keeping up, out to the buildings Nikandros had shown him. He let Laurent look at the children being fed, being taught, and the women with their work. It was a brief look because the people there were soon all dropping to their knees, as they had not done the previous time Damen had been here.

“These are not slave gardens,” Damen said. “Slave gardens are luxurious, pristine places. The women do not toil. The children learn different things.”

“Is that meant to impress me? I assure you, it does not —”

“I believe that on your side of the border, they call it a safehouse,” Damen said, and his head was too clouded still to enjoy this as a victory. 

“Women and children who need to flee the stigma you place on them if they do not have husbands and fathers. Some of the women go back. Some choose to stay. None of these people have been here long enough to be any kind of slave.”

Laurent’s face was expressionless. If Damen was hoping for a reaction here, he wasn’t going to find one. 

“Excuse me,” Laurent said. “I have pressing matters to deal with across the border. Do prevent your people from attacking until I return.”  
-

Which was no simple matter. Naturally, the local Akielons wanted to retaliate. One of their own had been taken from his bed in the night and murdered like an animal in the woods. Any leader worth his salt would be have his men mobilised to retaliate without delay. Damen said, “We wait,” and he was obeyed.

But he could taste the disapproval in the back of his throat. He knew that if there were more experienced men present, like the General Makedon or his own brother Kastor, he might have been disobeyed. Damianos, who won every battle except the ones that counted. Would this be his legacy? Akielons did not write songs about peace. They wrote them about conquest and blood.

It was a long day of false preparations. Damen would give Laurent the day and then he would plan to seek his own justice. 

He ignored the voice in the back of his mind whispering that Damen’s brand of justice was just what someone wanted. There were people here seeking war and he would play right into their hands.

The difference was, Damen would win any fight he threw himself into. Part of him even craved it — the mindless physicality of the battlefield and the elation brought by victory. He would take a win home to Ios with pride. Nikandros was looking at Damen like his assessment of the nearest troops and weapons was a charade, until they spoke again and Damen saw the change in his friend.

“You will fight.”

“I’ve never backed down from a fight.” Though they both knew that was not quite true either. He had at least twice, in different ways, and those incidents now shone brighter than any of his glorious successes. “But armies do not fight local crimes. That is —”

“The remit of the kyros,” Nikandros supplied. “Yes. But somehow my hands are tied.” 

“What would you do if I was not here?”

Nikandros paused, and that was the way of things now. “Wait,” he said. 

And they did, impatiently, until a sentry came with news of the prince’s return. He was almost back and he was not alone. 

“Soldiers?” Damen demanded. Laurent always had a guard. That was nothing to comment on. 

“Prisoners.”  
-

The men were flung onto the dais like sacks of grain. Bound, gagged but showing no signs of injury. Damen recognised one — Tisbe’s father.

“Let me be clear,” Laurent said. “These men are Veretian. They remain in Veretian custody. This is a show of good faith.”

“Show?” Nikandros asked, watching the dark courtyard of his fort come alive with torches and activity. It was typical of Laurent to behave as if he owned every piece of land he stepped on. 

“Are the dead boy’s family here?” Laurent continued. “Have someone fetch them. They’re going to want to see this.” 

 

“Laurent, this is not your country,” Damen said, a warning.

“As if I could forget,” Laurent replied, calm. Always calm. Even with his own countrymen squirming at his feet on Akeilon soil. Damen thought   
his father would never let a Veretian see Akielons treated like this. He thought that these men were under the belief they were avenging their daughter. 

“Your assessment was correct,” Damen said, a lower voice. “The girl…”

“Lied, yes.” Akielon now, whispered so that Nikandros and the soldiers and the terrified men could not here. “She will be punished. I’ve arranged it.”

On the ground, the grieving family were brought to witness the men who had killed their son. It was the presence of their future king that kept their tempers in check. 

“Your people will see you have delivered them to us,” Damen said, though he should not have been concerned what Laurent’s people thought. 

“They will see me return them too.” Laurent addressed the entire courtyard then. “These are the guilty men. They will be whipped here and then they will be sentenced to hard labour in Vere.”

The crowd shifted. They wanted death.

Damen spoke. “This is the pronouncement of your crown prince. A most grave crime has been committed and we will all observe the punishment. And we will work so nothing like this ever happens again.”

“That is our promise as princes,” Laurent added. But the word of Veretian princes meant very little here. A flick of his wrist, a nod from Damen and the men were strapped to the posts. 

“This,” Nikandros called, unexpectedly. “Is what will meet any of you who disobey border protocols or retaliate against Vere.” Which gained him a rare appreciative look from Laurent.

“Thank you,” Laurent said. “Vere appreciates your efforts not to harm our people.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Nikandros said. The crowd was still restless. Damen could sense it and yet he sensed that a tougher stance from him would not be right in this situation. His father would not tolerate these critical murmurs. But his father was not here and Damen could not go to far lest it appear as if he was unduly influenced by Vere. 

“They’ll calm down once the bleeding starts,” Laurent said, in response to Damen’s doubt. 

He was right.  
-

Damen watched the whippings with the kind of detachment that came form years of soldier training. It was not a form of punishment he favoured but it certainly was effective and recoverable. These men had strung a boy up, a happy Akielon boy. They deserved punishment. 

“We need to create a system whereby people on both side of the border can comfortably report crimes,” he said to Nikandros as they left the dais flanked by soldiers. 

“I agree. First, we need a drink.”

“I agree,” Damen said, smiling. Then he stopped himself. It probably wasn’t appropriate to smile after such a sombre event. He should probably pay respects to the family of the murdered boy. “I’ll follow you,” he said to his friend. He sought out the family and found someone else had gotten there first. Laurent, making apologies with the earnest charm of a golden prince. The family even accepted them. Afterwards, Damen’s respects felt clumsy but he did his best to make these people see his respect. They respected him and his role as prince. He ought to do the same in return.

There was no-one left in courtyard then but the Veretian guard responsible for the Veretian men who were hardly men at all now.

“If you wish to have them tended here,” Damen began. “We will ensure their safety.”

“Thank you but no,” Laurent replied. “I would rather see them home. There are cells at the keep near Sarjols prepared.”

“Don’t go with them,” Damen said, without thinking.

“You forget I am the only person here not under your command.”

“I don’t,” Damen replied. “But you should rest. This won’t cause a war. These kinds of conflicts will keep happening and our countries will keep dealing with them. However, if you return to Arles sick from lack of sleep your brother will march on me and that is nothing something I desire.”

Longer than a blink, Laurent closed his eyes. 

“I may not have lead armies all over Akielos but I can survive some missed sleep,” Laurent replied. “Your advice is not needed.”  
-

When morning came, Damen had a desert in his mouth and Vere on his brain. Too much wine and not enough water was to blame for the first problem. He told himself that border tension and being a prince of the blood was the cause of the second. Vere had likely been on the mind of every Akielon ruler since the first King. Somehow, though, he doubted all the previous royals had ever dealt with someone as frustrating as Laurent.

Shifting in the dawn light, Damen stretched his muscles and let a sound slip from his mouth like a groan. He turned his head to the side, where Lykaios had lain, and the thought came that it would be nice to witness her wake in the same manner. But she was a slave. Her side of the bed was smooth, cold, and she had diligently left cloths and water and anything else he might need on the table. If Damen wanted easy morning conversations, he would have to share his bed with someone who was not afraid to stick around. For that he would need a particularly ballsy noble and, well, that hadn’t worked out very well for him the last time he tried.

Naturally, he thought of Laurent again. It wasn’t just looks that brought him to mind, though that was part of it. Damen tried, and failed, to imagine Laurent in any kind of easy embrace. Really, it was a shame he was so disagreeable. They could have had some good times.  
Damen went through the normal morning routines of eating and training. After the distraction of the last few days, it was good to get back on the arena floor. He drew an audiences, though that was nothing unusual. What was unusual was the way the onlookers fell silent suddenly but Damen did not have to take his attention away from his exercise to guess there was only one other person in this fort who would cause such a reaction.

“Your highness,” he said, turning. There were too many people around to call Laurent by his first name.

“Prince Damianos, don’t let me interrupt.”

“You didn’t.”

The guard Damen was practicing with had been beaten. He panted at the edge of the circle with the look of a man who was glad to have sparred with the prince. Laurent had shadows beneath his eyes and Damen had to stop himself asking if he had slept at all after returning the men to Sarjols.

“There haven’t been many chances for me to train since I left Arles,” Laurent said, with his attention the swords lined up on the wall. 

“You were told you may use all the facilities in the fort.”

From what Laurent himself had said about his practical abilities, Damen didn’t think he would have much skill with a sword. But every man should know how to defend themselves and any prince had a duty to at least master the basics.

“Does that include you?” An arched brow. Damen’s breath caught in his throat. “I hear you train with the serving boys if they wait long enough. Surely you could spare a moment for the Prince of Vere?”

“Draw,” said Damen, with a strange feeling in his chest. 

But Laurent took his time choosing a sword. He muttered instruction to his guard. He lifted one shoulder, as if to roll it out, then stopped as if he didn’t want to give anything about himself away. 

Damen waited, patiently. Where was the harm in humoring him? He had never shied away from a fight.

The numbers of onlookers swelled. Two princes fighting was an interesting sight, to say the least. This was exactly the kind of thing they could   
have given the tense border people to the East if either Veretian brother had turned up at the last games. It was the kind of thing that bonded people and eased animosity. 

He was smiling when Laurent raised his sword. 

He was still smiling when Laurent lashed out with strength behind the thrust and Damen nearly had to work to stave off the blow. He pushed back with a small portion of his strength which Laurent deftly side-stepped, spinning, and launching his own attack. There was real skill in Laurent’s movements and Damen enjoyed meeting the challenge. There was a novelty to his twisty Veretian style. There was the thought it might have been like this somehow, if Damen had ever met Auguste on the field. 

Steel clashed, blows parried, sweat pooled as they pushed each other around the circle.

“You’ve been selling yourself short,” Damen said, after Laurent unleashed a particularly tricky set of moves on him.

“You’ve been over selling,” Laurent responded. “Your reputation is nothing but —”

Damen knocked his sword away with force enough that Laurent’s head snapped back. “What was that?”

Laurent spun, regrouped, and attacked from behind. “I’m barely half as good as my brother,” he said. “You never would have stood a chance if…”

Damen fended off the next attack, again with more strength. “If we had fought then,” he said. “I would have been trying. This is sport.”

“Is it?” The next move was entirely devoid of sportmanship, the kind of thing that would have any of Damen’s soldiers on latrine duty. Laurent was fighting with anger in his core — the same animosity he had been displaying on and off since his arrival to Marlas, where Damen had grabbed him as a boy and ended a war. Talking had not removed that anger and Damen could understand that.

A kinder person would let Laurent be victorious here. Let him work out the anger so they could move on as allies.

But Damen did not deserve this anger.

And he he didn’t like to lose.

He stopped holding back. He was stronger, older, more experienced and Laurent was certainly a worthy opponent who gave as good as he got. 

As soon as he saw the change in Damen he fought even harder, drawing gasps from the onlookers.

All Damen had to do was stop Laurent moving (easy for anyone who could wrestle), cast aside his weapon (easy when you are stronger) and   
keep hold of his arms with the tip of his sword at Laurent’s neck. 

“That’s it,” he said. “You don’t win.”

Laurent wrenched himself free of his grasp, as he had at the gate in the fields, and the sound of the cheers from the onlookers drowned out whatever either of them were going to say. Of course the fort residents were pleased to see their prince win. The soldiers could see that 

Laurent had fought well, and there was applause there for him too.

Damen searched for something to say that was not patronising and came up blank.

For a second, there was a flash of real feeling in Laurent’s eyes and then he composed himself again.

“I see I have more in common with Akielons than I first thought,” he said. “It seems I cannot beat your prince at swords either. Thank you for the opportunity to train, Damianos.” In his severe jacket, he hardly even looked like someone who had gone several rounds at swords. 

“Thank you for the challenge,” Damen said and left the arena to bathe. In the welcoming steam, he had a fleeting idea that Laurent might also bathe here and then dismissed it as the ludicrous thing it was. Laurent had final meetings with the kyros to attend to and then he would be leaving. He had fulfilled his duty to his brother the king, gotten his feelings towards Damen out of his system. Damen had been long enough away from Ios. The border would remain tense but such was the nature of borders. With strict rules and fair trade, conditions at the line of separation between Vere and Akielos could improve.

There was nothing else to do.  
-  
Damen sat in on the last of the meetings. They were waiting on approval from Arles on one tax matter but the message was expected by dawn.

“I thought you had the full authority of the crown here,” Damen murmured. He had never considered himself the antagonistic sort but these last days he discovered there was fun to be had in needling Laurent. 

“I do,” Laurent replied. “But I have no desire to get on the bad side of the treasurers right now. I’ve got plans.”

“As we conclude,” Nikandros said, loudly. “I wish to note that these negotiations have been a success, at least in my humble opinion. I hope this can continue.”

“Yes,” said Laurent. “The new trade terms are good.”

High praise.

“We should feast tonight,” Damen said, out of nowhere. “To celebrate.”

“I’m afraid I cannot attend,” Laurent replied. 

As far as Damen knew, he’d hardly slept in two nights. He also did not care for parties. No wonder his bed was a more tempting offer. As that thought came, Damen felt his skin get hot.

“I’m sure we’ll cope without you,” Damen said. “Nikandros, is there time for kitchen to prepare?”

Nikdandros smiled, as the rest of the people around the table began to relax. “Damianos, while you have been here they know to always be prepared.”

Laurent did not smile at that. Damen didn’t know why he was looking.  
-

The feast passed like any other. Damen was pleased to see that even if Laurent did not attend, some of his men were enjoying Akielon hospitality. Loyalty should be rewarded, even it reminded Damen of drones being loyal to their queen bee. Damen drank. It pleased Akielons to see their prince enjoying himself. He applauded entertainments and complimented the food. When he chatted and laughed with Nikandros, he could taste traces of how it used to be when they were boys. Damen did not drink to excess. It was not that kind of night. Too much drinking led him to think of hurtful things like foolish Ios nights where he did not know his own naivete. 

He would not be like that again.   
-

In the morning, he was fresher than most of the fort. He half-hoped to see Laurent’s golden hair appear at the edge of the training arena but all he had for company were the sentries who had been on duty the night before. He pushed himself through rigorous excercises, conscious of his imminent return to Ios. It seemed very important to be in the best physical condition when he re-entered the palace. Damen had learned the hard way that his nature left him open to betrayal. He could not change that. But he could look around the marble halls and think _I could beat any one of you._

So absorbed in his training, he did not see the nervous messenger until he was wringing in hands in front of him.

"Yes?” Damen asked.

“Forgive my interruption, Exalted. The Kyros requests your presence in the meeting room.”

“Tell Nikandros I’ll be there when I am finished here.” Damen was the Crown Prince. They could wait. 

“A messenger has come. The Kyros says you will want to be there.”

“From Arles?” He was getting irritated now. His rhythm was off. He did not need to be present for the last of the negotiations. He didn’t really   
care if Vere bought silver from their mines. Akielos had plenty of other countries to export their wares. They were already testing the waters with some southern island nations. 

“From Tarasis. It’s a smaller village to the East, about half a days ride from the Veretian fort of Ravenel. There’s…” He hesitated. This was a boy used to castle errands not speaking to his future king. “There was an attack,” he said. “According to the messenger, there’s nothing left of Tarasis but ash.”

-

Laurent said, “This was not us.” He looked as if he had said it a lot in the short time it took Damen to go to the meeting rooms. Jord and the other guards were on edge. Another Veretian attack and their prince in enemy territory. Tarasis was a simple village without military power or   
strategic benefit to anyone. The residents were innocents, pawns. 

“It was Vere,” Damen said. “The reports are clear.”

“It was an independent action,” Laurent said. “We do not sanction this. You know I’ve been trying to prevent this.”

“It seems you should be trying harder, your highness,” said Nikandros. As Kyros of Delpha, an attack on a village was an attack on him. 

“Enough,” said Damen. He did not want his friend to be brought down to Vere’s level right now. “Laurent, you did not sanction this? Fine. But it cannot go ignored. I’ve talked the border lords here down from a fight before. I am not sure I wish to do that twice.”

Stone-faced, Laurent looked straight ahead. “I find it hard to believe the man who shamed his father by backing down from a battle five years ago is going to wage one now over a worthless village.”

The words brought the anger that had been simmering in Damen to the boil. If he they had been spoken by anyone but a fellow prince, he would not have even tried to keep it in check. 

“You don’t know me at all,” Damen said, because he couldn’t speak his mind now. 

Nikandros cleared his throat. “Arrangements are being made. We’re sending troops to reinforce the local operation.” He didn’t mean for   
salvage and treatment. They needed to keep their people safe. 

“Let us finalise the orders,” Damen said. 

Laurent had some idea how to behave. He left the room. After all, they could not let the Prince of Vere know their defense strategies.   
-  
Plans and orders took time. They also had to be aware that rushing to the site of an attack might be just what the Veretian rebels (Damen did believe Laurent when he said this was not his orders) wanted. It could leave other areas defenseless. It could put the prince at risk. Damen, despite what had been said of him, was not afraid of any fight. He would not let anyone attack his people. The role of royals, the role of any man, was to protect those weaker than themselves. Yes, he was the heir but that did not mean he was going to be coddled like some sickly child. Akielos was a warrior country. Its future king was meant to be able to fight.

If only he knew who was fighting.

There had been some discussion otherwise, but Damen had decided to ride out at the head of his best men to vanquished village. There was always a route to the your enemy if you knew where to look. The border lords would support this move. They would draw Veretians out one way or another. 

As he considered this, Laurent made entry to Damen’s room. 

That was Vere for you.

“You plan to take your troops east,” Laurent said.

“What did you think I would do?”

“It won’t go un-noticed on the other side.”

“Good,” said Damen. On his desk was the last census taken in Tarasis. All those people dead. The boy in the tree, who just loved the wrong person. He could not stand for that.

“I looked at the map,” Laurent continued.

“How clever of you. Is that what they praise you for in Arles?”

“Tarasis is not far from Ravenel. Ravenel is one of our —”

“Strongest military defenses, I know. I have looked at maps too in my life.” With a pang, he thought of the maps of the stars in the sky. That had been a childish thing to indulge.

“Your troops gather, our troops gather. They get tetchy. The men get bored. The wrong person gets offended and then we are back to warring. Is that what you want?”

“No. I want revenge.”

“Really?”

Damen looked at the census again. “I don’t want any more lists like this,” he said.

“Nor do I,” Laurent replied. “Listen, I know you don’t like me. I know you don’t trust me. But I am not looking to mislead you on this. I am not looking to start a war.”

Damen could see the shape of what was coming on the periphery but he couldn’t quite tease it out yet. There was something seductive, in a thrilling sense, about the Laurent’s strange plans and unconventional prince-ship. But Damen had been seduced by sharp edges before and it had cut him in the long run.

“I think you best return to Vere and keep your armies in order.” He had to be practical.

“Laurent, the idle shirker who could not fight his way out of a haystack. They won’t take my orders.”

“I’ve seen you fight.”

“They have not,” Laurent said. “You can’t think I didn’t try at home first. The seeds of dissent remain there and they threaten my country and my brother’s reign. I was there when —” He stopped. “This is not my first choice either,” he said. “But I think if you and I work together without the constraints of protocol and advisers we could do something good here. Not something that will go down in the history books, granted, and that is more important to you than me but —”

“All right,” said Damen.

“What?”

“Tell me your plan. I am willing to try things your way, Laurent of Vere.”  
-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, guys! i'll most likely start posting twice a week from here on out, so there should be a new chapter sooner than usual. I'd love to know what you think <3


	6. Chapter 6

They left under the cover of darkness and the cloud of Nikandros’s disapproving expression. It was not in Nikandros’s nature to question his leader’s decisions but Damen knew that Laurent’s heavy involvement in this situation did nothing to put any Akielons’ mind at rest.

_You fight them, you don’t trust them._

Veretians.

But Damen had trusted Auguste and when the herald came to Akielon tent all those years ago, they knew what to expect. The war ended with only the loss of the King’s life. That was nothing to do with Akielos, thank you very much. Every subsequent dealing Damen had with Auguste was fair and honest and even Theomedes admitted he was a much better monarch to deal with than his predecessors.

That was practically glowing praise, coming from him.

It remained to be seen if the younger brother possessed the same honour.

So Damen left with Laurent, but he left instructions behind. He would not be fooled again.

“If we’re really to pass as carefree scholars, there should be conversation,” Laurent said from his horse. 

“So make some,” Damen said. He still felt it was quite unlikely that, considering their status and looks, either of them would get far without being recognised. That wasn’t ego. It was fact. But Laurent had pointed out that the average non-noble citizen did not really know what they look like nor would the expect to see them anywhere but at the centre of a royal parade.

“You are angry,” Laurent said. 

“You’re observant. Don’t worry, that’s when I’m at my best.”

“Perhaps on the battlefield. I did hear about your work with Patras with the Vaskians.”

“Not just in Patras.” Damen glanced at Laurent, who was a strong horse-rider and insisted on taking it very slow on the initial leg so not to tire their mounts, and who was currently focusing very hard on keeping his docile horse’s walk in check. “Strange how some Vaskians make it into Vere to cross our border.”

“Vere’s villages must have better defences. Vaskians are wiley.”

“If their defences were so good they would have stayed in Vask.”

“Come on, every country does things that are self-serving. Akielos takes slaves, lands and resources.”

“I was just making conversation,” Damen said. “Look, we need to keep along this river.”

“Everyone keeps along rivers. I don’t wish to encounter any bandits or —”

“Do you know the territory in any way than through maps? We follow the river. If nothing else, it’s good for covering tracks.” Tarasis was their  
aim, technically, but the damage was done there. They intended to seek out the scum who had cut down the village before their armies clashed. To do that, they had to stay hidden. They had to trust their men and their armies and their informers to do their jobs. Damen was riding out, free, alone, to do something himself yet he had rarely felt less in control.

-  
As a courtesy, he let Laurent decided when they should take a break. The idea in leaving so late was to get enough distance between them and Nikandros’s troops to maintain their cover. The longer the night went on, Damen realised Laurent would not suggest resting. The horses were fine. He was either quite afraid of looking weak or in possession of some preternatural self-control. Damen was all for self-discipline when the situation called for it. He was a soldier right down to his marrow. But he was also practical and he saw no sense in pushing either of them to the point of exhaustion so early in the journey.

“I’m stopping,” he said.

“That’s not how you signal a horse. Use your reins.”

“Hilarious.” Damen had identified a sheltered copse where the ground was solid and dismounted there. He did not look to see if Laurent followed but he heard the impact of him hitting the earth. 

Swinging around, he saw the earth was not as solid in that one spot as the rest. Such was the risk when you rode near the river.  
Laurent, still holding to his reigns, was scrambling rather panicked to find purchase for the soles of his boots.

It was only lucky the horse had better grip.

Damen steadied Laurent, one arm extended around his waist. He felt Laurent stiffen, as he had at the gate, but he still did not let go until he was sure no-one here would end up face down in the mud.

“You are free with your hands,” Laurent said.

“Were you attempting to authenticate your peasant clothes? The weave is enough. No-need to filthy them too.”

Laurent looked down at the cheap clothing, already splattered slightly from the ride. “Yes,” he said. “These do say a lot about a person.”

“Mine are saying my back itches,” Damen said.”

“Rub yourself against the tree like a bear while I relive myself,” Laurent said. “I won’t oblige.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you.” Damen found two dry logs to sit on and munched on some bread before it went stale. 

“Resting already? Where is the Akielon stamina?”

“Any experienced man knows the key to stamina is not rushing to the finish line,” Damen replied, with a nod to the other log. It took Laurent a second to take the seat. “We rest a little now and we can ride straight through tomorrow. If we don’t stop, we don’t have to deal with any nosey onlookers.”

“We will have to deal with onlookers some time,” Laurent said. “We want information that can’t be found on horseback.”

“I know.” They had marked their destination on the map and Damen hoped they would really find answers there. Laurent tapped his foot and made no move to spread out their star-watching prop. It made sense to carry that little guise through to this part of their plan, too. “I know, also, that you don’t like sleeping outdoors,” he continued. “It’s new to you and that I understand but —”

“As you told me in the fort,” Laurent said. “You don’t know me at all. A quick stop is acceptable. Try not to snore too loudly, please. The beasts out here might mistake it for a mating call.”

-

They rode through the next day. Damen was used to long, slow journeys but Laurent the so-called cosseted prince had them sailing across the countryside. Damen matched him stride for stride. Whispers reached their ears of the simmering frustration at the attack of Tarasis. The local troops were waiting on orders from Ios, they said. That took time. It seemed as if most people were unaware of Damen’s presence in the north. 

That wasn’t really surprising. He had said he would go home.

He didn’t listen hard to fellow travellers or the shopkeeper when they stopped for hot lunch. The feeling was known — little acts of aggression had been perpetrated all through Delpha and the people were fed up. 

“It’s almost as if,” Laurent said, taking the meat wrapped in warm bread without gratitude. “Someone wants our country to go to war.”

“No kidding,” said Damen.

“I wonder who.”

“Are you trying to hint something?”

“I would like to figure out who is causing these feelings,” Laurent said. “Simple as that.”

“Some of the Veretian nobility who would profit from a war?” Damen guessed. There was no-one around to overhear them, he hoped. “Or perhaps the nobility who do not like your brother have a hand in this?”

Laurent swallowed his food with effort. “Every monarch has his opponents.”

“If you say so,” said Damen. He did not think there was anyone in Akielos who would go against himself or his family. He had been beloved since the day of his birth. His father had forged the country together, and was feared and revered. They behaved with honour and heard dissent openly at assemblies. This had to be Vere. Of that, Damen was sure.

-  
“I’ve heard of this place,” Laurent said, later, slowing his horse near a decrepit inn bloated with built on additions. You didn’t need to be close enough to the door to see the markings to know what it was. 

“Everyone has heard of this place,” Damen said. It was the last brothel before Vere. Well, the last one that traded openly anyway. Plenty of Akielons took the chance to have some fun here before they made their way into the more regimented environment of Vere. Just in case, they said, there were no women for them beyonf the border. They would not listen that there were plenty of women and less punters beyond the border. “I hear the men from Vere often find reason to travel across this path. It’s not for the ambience they come here.”

“It’s not for the ambience we’re stopping here either,” Laurent said. “Come. The horses need to rest. We need information.”

“I’m not staying in a brothel,” Damen said.

“Aren’t you?” Laurent rode into the yard. 

Soon, Damen found himself on a three legged stool in a smoky room in the most infamous brothel outside of a port or a capital city. Damen had plenty of wild experiences in his youth. He had gone to such places for the novelty, egged on by drunken friends, but it was not somewhere he would choose to visit. When you were the crown prince, every noble home was available to you. When you were the crown prince, you had lovely slaves and willing nobles and friends to share your bed. You certainly didn’t have to pay for some soulless physical transaction. 

Damen could look upon the bawdy room, part viewing area and part bar, with some distant amusement. 

Laurent looked on with open curiosity. An act, surely. He was good a keeping his feelings to himself. The Veretian court was known to be…salacious. The Akielon emissaries had been quite taken aback by the openness with which they conducted private matters. Auguste had said, in one of his private letters, that in order to appease certain nobles he allowed certain practices to continue against his better judgment.

“First time in a brothel?” Damen murmured. He was taller. Unlike Laurent, who wore a felt cap now, he didn’t have to strain to see the activity of the room. 

“Frequency is nothing to boast about,” Laurent replied. 

“Is it really so strict in Vere?”

“Stricter. My brother is very over-protective, you know. Keeps me from…” A look around. “Parties. Monitors my activities. Don’t look so shocked. I’m told it’s what brothers do.”

“Not in my experience.”

“Because you are the younger one,” Laurent said. “Don’t pity me either. In truth, I had no taste for such crassness. Or rather, I over-in—”

“Wine?” A boy approached with a stained jug. He was clever enough to cast his attention on the Veretian. Across the way, a curvy girl was making eyes at Damen.

“No,” said Damen. He could smell how poor it was from here.

“Just one cup,” Laurent said, to Damen. “Go on. While we wait for our rooms. I never —” The boy poured. Laurent’s eyes followed the path of a pretty young girl and her visible nipples which were, coincidentally, the exact right height for the eyes of the men in the room.

“You’re making yourself into an easy mark,” Damen said, when the boy had scampered off. 

“That’s the idea. How else would you expect a young Veretian scholar to behave?”

“None of the men here will give information to a wide-eyed young Veretian scholar,” Damen said. He was quietly assessing the rank and sobriety of the men in the room. It wasn’t a matter of if he could befriend someone here and get news from them. It was a matter of which man was likely to give him the most accurate information. 

“Thank you, I know that,” Laurent said. “Oh, look. A card game. Free to enter. Do you think I have a shot?”

With a tinge of hysteria, Damen thought that there would be very little that Laurent did not have a shot at. He didn’t voice that new opinion. Laurent was already clumsily getting off his stool, balancing on Damen’s shoulder for support before hesitantly approaching the game.

In another life, he would have been a sensation on the stage.

As it was, he was accepted into the game without hesitation. The other punters did not see the scholar as a threat to their prize which was, classily, a free night with one of the house girls. 

“Business rough?” Damen asked the barkeep with a nod to the game. He had made his way over for a better look at the drinks on offer, and the  
game.

“Wine costs more than girls, mostly,” the man replied. “Keeps ‘em drinking. Gets ‘em talking. He won’t win, don’t worry.”

“It’s fixed?” Damen was surprised the man was being so open. Maybe he was the one who would know about the unrest. People talked to bartenders, didn’t they? 

“Your boy’s as green as a new shoot in Spring. Our girl won’t take him from you tonight.”

“Send over the food when it’s done,” Damen said, abruptly pushing himself away from the bar.

Laurent was not his boy.

He was holding his own quite well, actually. It was a classic ruse - act dumb and then clean up — but those blue eyes and that convincing tone of voice could keep even the angriest men at bay. Damen kept one eye on him, just in case he needed to intervene. But the rounds progressed and  
Damen’s plate was long empty and no-one had tried to kill him yet.

“We got a girl with that colouring on the late shift,” advised the boy who brought the wine. “Akielons love her.”

“You say that like this isn’t Akielos,” Damen said. He was proud of himself for showing restraint. After a lifetime of being taught to take pride in his country, it was no easy thing to ignore the lack of respect near the border. Delpha had always been part of Akielos. Vere’s occupation was a bump in the road. 

“Get a lot of Veretians this way is all,” the boy replied, nervous now. Damen could not shrink himself, as much as he knew his size could be intimidating. “Normally they want the darker boys and girls. Make ‘em pretend to be slaves then get all high and mighty in the morning.”

“Are you getting less since the prince tightened border controls?” With a concentrated effort not to look at said prince gambling for a night with a whore.

“People always get through,” the boy said. 

Across the room, Laurent’s voice lilted in Damen’s direction. He was playing up his accent here. It sounded like a song. “My companion is such a stick in the mud,” he complained. “Nothing but Akielon honour from him.”

“What a waste,” said one of the girls.

“It’s the big ones who always have trouble in the sack,” said one of the men, who as far as Damen could tell, could hardly see over the table. “Not like me. I’ve got finesse.”

“You don’t have to seduce ‘em when you’re paying for it,” Damen called. He wasn’t the only one who could play with his speech. 

“Not paying for it,” the little man replied, with a flick of his hand of cards.

“We’ll see,” said Laurent, who had lost enough at this point to not be hated at the table. 

He didn’t lose the next hand. Or the one after that. 

Or the one after that.

Everyone was watching him. Damen worried he would be recognised. He meant to pay more attention to the rest of the punters, in case they were getting suspicious, but the game was engrossing. 

There was one hand left.

Laurent won.

He smiled, and it was joy mixed with humility and even his competitors looked pleased for this youthful stranger. Didn’t every boy deserve a chance with a girl like that? Didn’t scholars deserve a break? It was hard for them up in Vere, where they couldn’t feel soft flesh beneath them without breaking the law. 

Even the girl looked happy. Who could blame her? Laurent was damn sight cleaner and prettier than most of the men who played for her body.  
Damen made his way over to the card table.

“Congratulations,” he said to Laurent. He had to bend at the neck and stand quite close for Laurent to be able to hear him. “Your brother will be very proud.”

“I hope you’re not as premature in other matters as you are congratulations,” Laurent said, loudly. “I am Veretian. I would never risk the scandal, as you know. My father the professor would take away my scholarship if a batch of blond babies appeared in Delfeur.”

“Someone should tell the kid there are other places to put it,” muttered one of the losing men.

“There’s no need,” Laurent said and turned the girl he had won. She was had rouged lips and lined eyes and Damen could see a tan line just above her nearly exposed breasts. “I mean no insult, Lysette. My friend here will share the night with you, not me.”

Lysette, the prize whore, gave Damen an appreciative look. “No insult taken,” she said.

Damen caught the arm of the serving boy. “Have my belongings moved to the my colleague’s room,” he said. “If anything goes missing you will be in the barracks.”

“Move them yourself,” the boy said. “This is an inn not a palace.”

-  
So Damen found himself moving his own bags out of the room. He never normally did anything like that. Unless he was deployed with his troop, and needed to show camaraderie, matters like carrying bags and wiping the dust from his shoes were not his concern. But since he had no intention of sleeping with the girl, and could only assume this was part of Laurent’s charade, he figured he better move his belongings lest they get stolen or Lysette realised there was more coin and weaponry among them than what was usually in the possession of a regular traveler.  
Laurent lingered on the landing.

“I’m waiting,” Damen said.

“If you require instruction…”

“I don’t appreciate being left in the dark.”

“Talk to her,” Laurent said. “Women like you. Everyone likes you. There’s every chance she would know something about the activity in the area. Can’t you see how busy this place is? Don’t you remember the map, how close we are to Tarasis?”

“Location is not what I think of, when I think about Tarasis,” Damen said. “This is foolish. This is work for spies. If you bothered to come out from behind your brother’s robes these past years you would know that. Or are you so consumed by control that you cannot —” Footsteps on the stairs made him stop, pull back. 

Laurent blinked.

“You came here willingly. You said you trusted me on this,” he hissed. “Fuck her, then, if you cannot do as I ask stick with what you know best.”

“I don’t pay for it,” Damen said. 

“No. You have slaves. Pretend she’s one. No money has changed hands tonight. Yet.” Laurent clipped away. Lysette emerged from the darkness, moving her hips from side to side.

“My lord,” she said.

“I’m not a lord.”

Her walk changed. “Every man is a lord when he’s got one of us underneath him.”

Damen considered following Laurent back down the rickety stairs and throttling him. Instead, he entered the sparse bedroom. 

“I’m not going to sleep with you,” he said.

“I’m not going to be grateful,” she replied. “If it’s a moral thing. However, I am free from disease and spotlessly clean. I can tell both of you boys are new to this kind of thing.” She lay on the bed. Damen stood. 

“I’m not new to any of this,” Damen said, and it felt like a lie when he thought of Laurent.

“You are faithful to another?”

“No.” There wasn’t another. When there was, faithfulness existed in a different sort of way. His father had a wife and a mistress. Damen had neither but he had not seen the problem with uncomplicated sex without limiting oneself. Before. 

“You prefer the boy.”

“No.” And Laurent was not a boy.

Lysette glanced below Damen’s waist.

“No problem there,” he said, firmly. “I’m just not playing my colleague’s game tonight. Winning like that and foisting you on me. I tire of his  
schemes.”

“I thought it was cute,” she said. Damen smiled a little. When was the last time someone lay on a bed with him and told him what they really thought? “All right,” she said. “You got something weird? Spit it out. If it’s hygienic and painless, I’ll consider it.”

“That’s not necessary,” Damen said. “I’m… pre-occupied with what happened at Tarasis.”

“You don’t have the accent.”

“I didn’t say I was from around here.”

“Ah,” she said. “A talker. Anyway, it’s a terrible business. Some of the boys came from the clean up blowing ash from their noses. Some of the  
dead had probably been here.”

“The King won’t stand for it,” Damen said.

“They’ll be forgotten by the time he hears,” she replied.

“I won’t stand for it. There’s lots of men like me,” he said. 

“They’re all twiddling their thumbs waiting for orders. They saw the kyros is coming east, but no-one’s seen him. Meanwhile, they’re gathering just beyond the border with their —” 

“With what?” Damen pressed. Maybe Laurent’s idea was not so terrible. People talked to whores. Probably, people didn’t very often listen to whores. 

“The weapons they used to cut down that village,” she said. “Now, if you’re really not going to make use of your prize, I’m going to take a nap.”

Seconds later, she was snoring softly. Damen was a little bit shocked. He wasn’t used to being dismissed. He didn’t know how to assert himself without giving his ruse away. Generally, getting what he wanted was not a problem for him. This was new territory. 

He went to the other room and rested on the lumpy bed.

This wasn’t his plan. He’d give it a few minutes, just to make sure Laurent’s stupid joke didn’t gain traction, and go back down to the inn. If there was information to be got, Damen would get it from the Akielon tradespeople and guards that were spending their wages downstairs. Men were easier. They’d want his approval. Women, especially whores, were smarter. Why talk to one man if it meant other men would not pay you in future?

The door opened and instinct had him on his feet and his hands on the intruder before he registered the intruder was Laurent.

“I told you already I don’t want your hands on me.” Laurent shook him off.

“I told you I want to be kept in the loop. That was pointless. She wouldn’t tell me anything,” Damen said. “Come on. I’m going to talk to the stablehands and guards. If you want to make yourself useful, stand around looking useless so we can make fun of you.”

“I’ve fled in humiliation after losing a substantial amount of money,” Laurent said, leaning against the uneven wall. “Well, substantial to these men. I’m not going back down. You already have something to poke fun at the poor, green Veretian with. They won’t tell you anything. Our spies have gone all through here before.”

“Everyone but the whores, I see,” said Damen. “Now who is useless?” He threw himself back down on the bed. Laurent looked at him through a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. “We should go,” he said, then, conscious suddenly of the position he found himself in. What would his father say if he knew Damianos had holed up in a squalid inn with the young Prince of Vere for the night? “If this is really the avenue through which these attacks are happening, I can find some of the perpetrators. I can make anyone talk.”

“Torture. You really say all the right things.” Laurent radiated annoyance. “You really think you can creep through this territory alone, sniff out the guilty men and make them talk?”

“Yes.” 

What kind of stupid question was that?

Damen said, then. “But I wouldn’t be alone.”

Laurent’s shoulders tensed, briefly, and then the annoyance was back. 

“Let my plan play out. If it is unsuccessful, we try your way.”

“Fine.”

“Now return to your room.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I left the girl there,” Damen said. “Drooling all over the pillow. If she’s as clever as I thought, she’ll have one of the men who sleep in the barn in there right now.”

“We paid for two rooms,” Laurent said. “I—”

“You can go share with the whore. Think about which option would more severely damage your reputation at home.”

Huffing, Laurent pushed away from the wall. “You’re taking the pallet,” he said.

Damen considered saying he would only if Laurent could get him off the bed, but joking like that had not not worked for him before. There were other ways to make sure the Prince of Vere did not get ahead of himself.

“All right, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m not as delicate as you. All those years soldiering will do that to a man. You take the bed.”

All those years soldiering kept his reflexes strong, too. 

Laurent hurled a pillow at him.

Damen ducked.

-  
It was one thing throwing yourself down on the earth beside another person. Nothing was less intimate than camping. It was another thing entirely to be present while another person, in this case the cold, restrained Prince of Vere prepared for bed. Laurent’s disguise was about a tenth as luxurious as his court clothes, but he was still a Veretian of relatively high birth. It took time to remove clothes like that.

“I understand why the whores are all falling out of their tops,” Damen said. “All the laces have been used in your jackets.”

Laurent’s cheek twitched, like he wanted to smile. Damen’s clothing was more basic. Trousers, a shirt and plain leather jerkin and the kind of soft short boots Akielons favoured. He used his heels to remove them and laid his jacket over the lone chair. There. Ready for bed while Laurent was fiddling with his cuffs. 

“You’re enjoying watching me struggle, I can tell,” Laurent said. “Don’t get used to it. This isn’t difficult for me.” Time-consuming, perhaps, but he nimbly unfastened his clothing without any of the fumbling Damen would have gone. He reminded himself to never take a Veretian lover. By the time the clothes were gone, the mood would have gone off him. 

Damen pretended not to notice Laurent clean himself with a damp cloth or roll his shoulders which must have ached from a day in the saddle and night on a low stool. He slept easily, in general, and made himself as comfortable as one could get on the floor as Laurent lay down on the bed. 

He looked at Laurent.

Laurent looked at him.

When it was time to sleep, a room should not be so bright as to look at another person all the way across the room.

He saw it as a challenge, and then he saw mirth pass across Laurent’s face. Somewhere, despite the strangeness, the knowledge of the tension between their countries, they found room for laughter.

It hadn’t occurred to either of them to blow out the lights.

“I’m not getting up,” Damen said.

“I’m not putting my feet back down on those frigid floorboards.”

“It’s easier for you,” Damen said. “Isn’t the rest of you made of ice?”

“I can sleep with lights on,” Laurent said.

“You’re probably afraid of the dark.”

“I’ve never backed down from a challenge.”

“I never lose,” Damen said, but that wasn’t quite true either. That knowledge ate at him like a flame over ice. He did lose, sometimes. He didn’t  
know if he would ever be the person who didn’t lose again. The memory of another night, and too bright lights and the jolt in his chest that had been betrayal but felt like a knife, gnawed at him and he sprang up from the pallet and quenched the lights. In the dark, it was easier to forget.  
He bet to himself that the whore next door preferred the dark and the men she lay with, too.

“The bed,” Laurent began. “Is bigger than I realised.”

“Is that so?

“If you … don’t touch me. You can— who knows when we will have a proper bed again?”

“The floor is fine,” Damen said. He was not precious about personal space. But he didn’t want to make things with Laurent stranger than they already were. Laurent was not the kind of man you could bunk in beside and tease about the stink of his socks. He wasn’t like nobility Damen knew who enjoyed flirting and fun and anything beyond just for the sake of it. Most nobles cavorted through life, savouring decadence or grasping at attempts to relieve themselves of the boredom of privilege. 

Laurent was different.

“I was rude to you before,” Laurent said. “I was…mistaken about the activities across the border.”

Damen understood that this was some attempt to make up for that. Perhaps to prove he was just as at ease with people as any prince should be. 

He would not reject that, not when they needed each other to quell this growing political tension.

Damen knew to make it easy. He slipped beneath the rough cotton without another word.

“Most people just say thank you,” Damen said.

“Most people would insist,” Laurent replied. “You’re…different.” 

“Than?” Damen kept a careful distance between them. He was afraid to disturb the bedding.

“What my brother described. What I remember. What I expected.”

“I’m trying not to be,” Damen admitted. 

“Why didn’t you fuck the whore?”

“Why didn’t you fuck one of the boys?” Damen snapped. “I..I don’t pay for it,” he continued. “I told you that.”

“The council think I should get a pet,” Laurent said. “It’s quite normal to pay for it in Vere. You prefer your slaves who —”

“No,” he said. “Not…Laurent, I am trying to be at ease with you and you ask the most difficult questions.”

“You would rather talk about the weather? The price of silk in Kempt?”

“It used to be easy,” Damen said, into the darkness. “I didn’t think about it. Slaves, yes. It’s like…like they were made for you. Other people, also. Court women and sporting men.”

“Men. You are full of surprises.” There was warmth in his voice, as if he meant to tease but wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. “What changed?” 

Damen didn’t answer. He said, instead. “It’s only Lykaios. We’re actually friends, in a way. There’s comfort there It’s…easy.” 

Laurent said. “It’s never easy for me.” The mattress squeaked and Damen didn’t know if he was turning away or turning towards him. “Don’t think that’s some grand revelation,” he added. “Everyone knows about Laurent the frigid coward. A younger prince who won’t fight or fuck? What good is he to a court?”

Damen smiled. He thought that the bed was warm. 

He said, “At least you’re nice to look at.”

“Like an ornament on a shelf. Or so they say.” 

“What do you say?” Damen wasn’t even sure what he was asking.

“This bed isn’t as lumpy as I expected.”

“Just don’t look under the sheets, your highness. The ground might be preferable. Or not. You have yet to get used to sleeping outside.” It was a tease, and Damen meant it to be gentle. He was finished with being needlessly antagonistic towards Laurent. That was not him. He didn’t pick the wings from flies. He didn’t scratch at weak spots as Kastor would. “Some people suit the indoors.”

Damen could see Laurent in his minds eye - pen flying over paper as he sat over a big wooden desk or lounging on a velvet couch while a slave fanned away the heat. No, he dismissed that image. There would never be slaves where Laurent lay. He’d situate himself near a breeze instead. The sea brought in breezes near the palace.

“I have slept outside before,” Laurent said.

Damen forced himself to remember where he was, who he was with. “I know. I found you in the tent.”

“I didn’t…” Laurent sighed. “Well, since you brought it up I wish to say something about the tent.”

“By all means.” Damen held his breath. He should not have brought this up. “I’m always eager to hear a new version of how I hurt you.”

“You left me there,” Laurent said. 

“I was hardly going to take you with me.”

“That wasn’t very smart. I’ve been told I’d fetch a fortune on the auction block.”

“They’d look for a refund by the end of the day.”

Damen thought he a breath of laughter from Laurent but he wasn’t quite brave enough to turn his head. Damianos the warrior-prince, rendered immobile by a sleepy young man beside him. 

“When the herald went to your father’s tent I was safe with my — I was at the back of the lines. Auguste was at the front.”

“I was by my father when your herald spat on the ground,” Damen said, remembering the insult. He couldn’t believe anyone would treat his father like that. 

_You fight them, you don’t trust them._

Now here was Damen having literally got into bed with the only Prince of Vere. The voice he heard in his mind, berating himself for naivete, was not his own. It was Kastor, telling him not to be stupid. 

“Auguste chose not to fight,” Laurent said. “He was ready. He was able. He could lead those troops as if they were connected to him with string. He’s still the best fighter Vere has ever seen. And he chose to honour your agreement.” His voice changed. “My uncle was furious. But Auguste’s command trumped all. My father pinned the badge on himself.”

“It was for the best,” Damen said. “Minimal loss of life …Forgive me, I know your father died in the confusion. For the armies, I meant.”

“And you still got what you wanted,” Laurent said. “Riding up alone from the heaving Akielon troops to shake my brother’s hand.”

“Two white flags,” Damen said, an echo in his voice. He did not give that day too much thought. He’d focused on the aftermath, the victory, and pushed away the sense that he had done something wrong by not picking up his sword that day. 

“He chose to surrender,” Laurent said, nearly like he was saying the words to himself. 

“It was our land, first,” Damen said, defensive though he did not feel that way really. It was more comfortable than that in the drafty room. The difficulty of the words being spoken was outweighed by the rightness of the conversation. 

“And before that,” Laurent said. “It was somebody else’s. Why did your father really choose to invade?”

“It was the best time, strategically, as you sadly know.”

“Was it for Akielos or the ego of the king?”

“The country and king are the same,” Damen said, carefully. “But a good king puts his ego last.”

“Auguste says a good king puts the people first. I suppose it’s the same thing.”

“What do you think?” Damen asked.

“People are people, regardless of which side of the border they live on. When they look up, the stars are all the same.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um, i messed up the frequent posting thing. consider this super early or super late. happy halloween, y'all <3


	7. Chapter 7

It wasn’t the sleeping that surprised him but the way his heart didn’t jolt when he woke to to feel warmth emanating from the Prince of Akielos, just a few hot inches away. Laurent was meant to hate Damianos, who lead his crooked country into war with Vere and sparked some of the worst times of his life. When Damianos strutted around like the future king he was, or unleashed a surprisingly sharp tongue in Laurent’s direction, it wasn’t too difficult to remember how to hate.

But when the Prince of Akielos dozed, lips slack and chest slow, trusting and vulnerable, Laurent did not feel hate. It was something else in his chest, and it scared him.

He thought how he could kill him. Probably. If that was something he wanted to do. 

Damianos was foolish to ride out like this with an almost enemy prince.

Or Laurent was the fool to be gazing down at him.

Abruptly, he left the bed and endured the cold floor on his cold feet. Dressing quickly, leaving enough items so that if Damianos woke he would know Laurent was not gone far, Laurent left the room. The timing was so good, he let the whore next door think he planned it that way. She wasn’t looking at him, not really. She was looking at the dishevelled houseboy who winced as he walked by them. She was hearing the sounds floating from the other rooms that were not nice at all. 

Laurent’s lost money had gone where he intended it — into the pockets of prostitutes.

“Sleep well?” He asked Lysette. 

“You missed your chance,” she said, a warning.

“Thank you, I was not looking for a fuck,” he said. She looked at him, when he swore, and for a moment Laurent was reminded of his mother and how she would look at him and Auguste if they dared say something inappropriate in front of her. 

“You got it off the big Akielon,” she said, like his language had brought her to a decision of how to deal with him.

“Because that’s the only reason neither of us would want you last night.”

“I’m the best here,” she said.

“If that was true, you wouldn’t be the prize.”

“Yes, I slept well,” she said. “Easy sleep when there’s no-one pawing at you in the night. Not that you’d know about that, scholar.”

He willed his expression to stay neutral. It wasn’t hard. He’d had lots of practice. “Which is it? I’m fucking my colleague or I’m not. Make up your mind.”

“You’re causing a racket,” she said. “There’s a pot in the room.” 

As if the brothel wasn't an active place in the pre-dawn hours. 

Laurent had to press himself against the wall then or risk getting trampled by a different girl, with paint smeared across her face and red marks around her neck. Regardless of what people thought of him, Laurent was not devoid of emotion. He saw the pain and felt it in a way that was different to hers but real all the same. He just knew how to push through it.

“You didn’t save me from anything,” Lysette said, looking at the poor girl too. 

Laurent said, “I just have a couple of questions.”  
-  
Dawn has turned the sky from black to grey when Laurent made enough noise in the room to wake the sleeping prince in his bed. He wondered what Auguste would think if he knew Laurent knew what Damianos looked like as he came back to the world in the morning. The crinkled nose and the messy hair and the eyes pressed tight together even though he was clearly awake now. Auguste would probably laugh. It was easy for Auguste to laugh. _Here is our barbarian enemy, the fearsome man who stopped and won a war with one hand on Laurent’s shoulder. His eyes are glued together from sleep._

“Sorry,” Damianos mumbled, thick-voiced. 

“Why?”

“I’m guessing I did something to expel you from the bed in the night.”

“If you did something, you would be the one expelled from the bed. Perhaps out the window.” Laurent said. “Anyway, we should move. My plan worked. I know where we are going next.”

“Waiting here for Nikandros and his army?” Ah, back to staid Damianos who wanted to follow the rules.

“No,” said Laurent. “Vere.”

-  
The main road to Vere was not one Laurent wanted to travel. Chances of recognition, or trouble, were far too high. There wasn’t any road to Vere that Damianos wanted to travel. So he was either foolish or brave to trot alongside Laurent on his massive horse through the valleys and foothills that would bring them to their destination. This was different to that trip near Marlas. It was more dangerous.

“This could be an ambush, you know,” Laurent offered. “You are too trusting.”

“I’ve been told that before,” Damianos replied. “And I am perfectly capable of surviving an attack. You, however, and your country would not want the wrath of my father if something happened.”

Laurent did not doubt that Damianos could survive any attack life threw at him. He was strong and showed every sign of being adaptable. Laurent had different strengths. He could talk. He could fight, one on one. He had skill with a sword, a spear and on horseback. Those things were not respected much, when you they weren’t put to use in an army, but he knew they were there. 

“Your brother, too,” Laurent said, watching. He’d already gathered there was bad blood between Damianos and the bastard Kastor was nothing to do with Kastor being a bastard. It wasn’t hard to guess at the source. Ambition did that to brothers — tore them apart. It’s a good thing for him and Auguste that he had very little. 

“Yes,” said Damianos, neutral. “You and Kastor in a fight. Perish the thought.”

“You are sure I would be fighting him?”

“I am sure you would not let your brother lead now,” he replied. “Vere needs a king. His child needs a father.”

Damianos was right. If war came, which none of them wanted, Laurent would not sit idly by while his brother was in danger. Once the child was born, Vere would have a second heir. Laurent would be further down the line to the throne. That’s not to say that he did not value his own life. He had no desire to die. But the surety of Damianos’s words threw him a little. It was odd, for someone to be so convinced of you actions.

“We are doing this to ensure that doesn’t happen,” Laurent said. Damianos nodded and guided his mount towards the hill. “We can go through the valley,” Laurent called.

“The best place to be is always the top of the hill,” Damianos said. “Just in case.”

On the crest, Damianos made a mark on a boulder with the tip of his dagger. 

“The Crown Prince Was Here?” Laurent guessed, scathingly. He could make no sense of the scratching.

“Something like that. Nikandros and I used to leave marks like this when were children.”

“I see.”

So Damianos was not that reckless after all. Laurent meant to deliver some other probing comment but was caught out by the stricken look on Damianos’s face. His body was still. Not danger, then. Laurent followed his line of sight down to the next valley unsure of what he would see. An army? A trap? No — the smoking ruins of the village that used to be Tarasis. Laurent knew it was in the area. He knew that the fear of disease meant there would be nothing left as this point. Bodies long buried and houses stripped to raw materials.

Indeed, he knew what destruction looked like. The field at Sanpelier often came to mind, when Akielos had so thoroughly trounced their troops. From what he had gathered, Damianos had not fought that battle at the front but commanded with his father and brother from the rear. It might have been the same at Marlas, later, but that was wishful thinking. Auguste had decided to lead his men. Damianos would have done the same.

It felt, for a second, that Laurent’s destiny was to always be too late. To look upon ruin with Damianos somewhere near by.

His gut twisted, and he remembered again how he had been wrong about the slave activity at Marlas. All that wasted time energy while little towns were being destroyed. 

He expected regret to be clear on Damianos’s face. He did not hide his emotions and this flattened village was a truly regretful sight. What Laurent saw was unbridled fury, the kind that made his pulse speed up and hold his reins a little tighter.

“This can’t happen again,” Damianos said. 

“I know.”  
-

Their destination was the Alierian town of Ronelle, which lay halfway between Ravenel and the Eastern border with Vask and Patras. It was a thoroughfare, much like the place the brothel in Delpha was situated. They got there without detection which was worrying enough. The mood of the town only added to that feeling. Laurent’s stricter rules about border crossings had left many people stranded in such towns while they got the correct paperwork sorted. The people who lived in them already had frustration enough about the tension with Akielos. In other places he had traveled, the tension was an underlying thing. Here it was obvious as the sun in the sky.

Or perhaps it was the disguise that made the disapproval visible. People generally restrained themselves around their prince.

The starburst flew as far as the eye could see, and that was a comfort.

But just as prevalent were anti-Akeilon sentiment. No Akielon traders in certain establishments. Lock your doors, the Akielons will steal across and steal your children in the night. Protect your women or they will be raped or worse by the barbarians that already took Delfeur.

Damianos pulled his cloak around his face.

“I doubt you will be recognised,” Laurent said.

“That’s not what I am covering,” he replied. A look similar to what he had worn near Tarasis darkened Damianos’s features. Laurent didn’t like it. The Akielon Prince had a face made for smiling. It made him think of Auguste, and the worry lines that never used to be around his eyes before. 

But Laurent remembered his own impotent rage at Marlas and said no more. Here were the people who sacked that innocent village. Here were the signs that made them believe it was acceptable to hate Akielons. It was one thing to despise the royalty. He had done that long enough himself. But ordinary people did not deserve that wrath.

There was a workers hall just beyond the town square. If they hadn’t gotten it from Lysette, they would have sniffed it out quickly enough themselves with the amount of horses, donkeys and carts piled up outside. A flag flew there, too, hastily hanging from a window where it could be pulled in if the wrong person passed.

An Akielon lion, covered with a black cross.

Lysette had informed Laurent that regular meetings took place in the workers hall in Ronelle. Everyone knew (except the authorities of course) that was where you went if you were angry about the state of affairs between Vere and Akielos. That’s where the plans were hatched. That’s where the hatred was stirred.

“This is where some excuse of a man decided to cut down our village,” Damianos said, like they had been thinking the same thing. He jumped down from his horse and made the odd gesture of calming Laurent’s horse while he dismounted. Even the animals could feel the tension the place. 

“So different to a warfield tent,” Laurent said, because his mood was dark right now.

“Villagers are not soldiers.”

“No,” said Laurent. “Pity no-one told these villagers that.”

So thronged was the hall, so average was their clothing, they easily made their way among these low born people. In another circumstance, Laurent might have found the difference in class interesting. He’d always found the ways of his guard, for example, to be full of refreshing  
crassness. But the mood in the hall was heated with anger and there was nothing refreshing about that.

It was all directed at Akielos, which was the only positive. Laurent could not have sat there as Damianos did and listen to his family be insulted. Also, he got the impression that these people were bored and restless. They needed someone to hate. Better they hate Akielos than find fault with Auguste’s rule. That had been a problem, before.

“We need to find whoever’s at the top of the chain here,” Damen muttered. 

“Cut off the head and you destroy the whole monster,” Laurent responded, quietly. Then, added, loudly. “Down with Theomedes.” He was just playing the part. They’d have to blend in if they wanted to get close to whoever was leading this dissent - the mysterious T they had heard mentioned who was neither Tisbe or the town of Tarasis. Perhaps they should check the census. 

The words drifting their way were meaningless, nothing they had not heard before. Revenge. Reclamation. Protection. People felt how people felt about Akielos. Damianos weathered the insult like this was new information. How could he not expect this hatred after what they had done?  
Perhaps he thought himself exempt because he stopped before facing Auguste in the field. 

At Sanpelier, thousands of Veretians had died. Sure, they got some Akielons but the losses were nowhere near comparable. Before that, when Damanios lead the first skirmishes at the border with the land they called Sicyon, his men had slaughtered provincial troops like a woodsman cuts down trees.

Laurent did not feel like interacting with these people. He could give himself away. But Damianos’s easier nature, his comfort with rough men, would have come in handy here if only he could unclench his fists.

“You’ll have to do any infiltration,” Damianos muttered. “I’ll give myself away.”

“Your Veretian is quite perfect,” Laurent said. But that wasn’t the issue. No-one could look at Damianos and see him as anything but the creme de la creme of Akielon stock.

As Laurent considered how to talk to an angry commoner, a hush descended through the hall. Perhaps this would give them a sighting of the leader. Laurent would take joy in eliminating the cause of the unrest. He’d do it in front of the other men, so they all knew the Prince would not tolerate dissent of any sort.

He couldn’t see beyond the shoulders of the other men to the top of the room unless he stood. He did not risk drawing that attention to himself yet.

“What’s happening?” 

“Someone’s getting ready to talk. I doubt it’s the leader,” Damianos replied. “He’s barely more than a boy and an aristocrat at that. There’s more polish in those curls than on the silverware in the palace.”

“Thank you for that illuminating comment.” Laurent leaned to the left for a clearer view. The boy began to speak and Laurent’s racing heart in his ears nearly drowned out the crisp aristocratic accent. “We need to go,” he said, his right hand landing urgently on Damianos’s sleeve. “Now. Before I’m recognized. I know him.”

“An aristocrat of your age. That’s not a —”

“Hush,” hissed a nearby man. “He’s starting.”

Laurent was trapped. If they left now, they’d be drawing even more attention to themselves.

And so he sat, and was forced to listen as Aimeric of Fortaine, fourth son of Guion the Prick, harangue this captive audience regarding the gross injustice between Akielos and Vere. How unfair it was. How ordinary people needed to rise up. They listened, too, because Aimeric was rich and pretty. Common people looked upon aristocracy with awe. Whoever was causing the dissent at the border would have known that, too. 

Chances were, if Laurent revealed his true identity half these folk would die of fright. And he might have done that, if it was anyone but Aimeric bleating on up there. 

He’d always liked attention. 

“How are you at throwing daggers?” Laurent asked Damianos.

“Do you want it in his eye or his neck?”

Laurent pressed his lips together. “I want to know who is putting him up to this.”

Damianos slunk down in his chair. He was clearly Akielon but there was more of a mix of people down south than in the rest of Vere. He was also physically imposing. Angry commoners would either love to pick a fight with him or run from one. “This is posturing,” he said. “Your friend up there—”

“He is not my friend.”

“He’s a mouthpiece. Let me guess, a third son looking for attention.”

“Fourth.”

“Would he talk to you?”

“No. You, perhaps. Or the scholarly version of you.” Laurent could see how someone like Aimeric could be seduced by someone like Damianos. 

“Last resort,” Damianos said. “I’d rather not have to make nice with any more bigoted Veretians.”

“Beneath you? All right, I won't object to torture."

“Dishonourable.”

“Hush,” said the nearby man again. A few people were looking at him annoyed now. From his makeshift platform, Aimeric was looking their way. 

“They raped a girl in Sarjols!” Laurent shouted. “They’ve got a house full of women at Marlas for their pleasure.”

Damianos tensed. But it took the attention away from them and Aimeric continued his tirade against the barbarians. He gave an impassioned speech and handed out leaflets most of the men would not understand. He arranged to meet them all the same time the following day.

“Pointless,” Damianos said.

Laurent was inclined to agree. Or he would have, if Aimeric wasn’t playing politician and making small talk with the hangers on. If Laurent was  
spotted now, the plan was over. 

If it was anyone else but Aimeric.

“Move,” he said, tugging on Damianos’s sleeve again. It was that or touch some part of his body. 

Damianos obeyed. His bulk made people get out of their way and the cool Autumn air was a welcome shock to Laurent’s system. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Damianos said.

“I think Aimeric saw me,” Laurent said. 

“Tell him to keep quiet.” Said with the tone of someone used to being obeyed. 

“I don’t want to tell him anything.”

Damianos sighed. “I’ll talk to him, if you really want.”

“You’ve got the subtlety of an ox,” Laurent said. “We’re leaving.”

 

“But —”

“I’m leaving. Do what you want.” Laurent swung up onto his horse.

Damianos followed.  
-

They rode east, away from the town and that upstart Aimeric, towards gathering clouds. Laurent rode fast. He knew his horse could stand it. Knew he needed the beat of hooves against the earth and the sensation of flying away.

He slowed, when necessary, and Damianos put his hands on Laurent’s reins.

“All right,” he said. “Enough.”

“I—”

“We’re ages away from the town. There’s been no signs of life. We have no supplies and there’s a storm brewing.”

Laurent stopped. It took a moment for him to catch his breath and another for the chaos in his head to quieten. 

“How well do you know this territory?” Damianos asked.

“We normally take a direct route from Arles,” Laurent said. “I know it better the closer we get to Acquitart.”

“What about patrols? Crime? Do you get Vaskian raiders here?”

“I—” Laurent couldn’t think. He didn’t know what to reveal to Damianos or what would leave him vulnerable. “A lot of the patrols are diverted towards the border,” he said. “This is generally a peaceful area. The clanspeople, they generally stay away.” 

“Even with the patrols diverted?”

“Yes.”

“You bribe them to direct their attentions elsewhere,” Damianos said, flatly. Laurent had not the patience for a debate about honour in this moment. “Right. Are we far from shelter?”

“I don’t know. Let me get the map.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened in that town? I am sure there is more information to be found there.”

“Excuse me,” Laurent said. “I need to relieve myself. Thank you for not looking over my shoulder while I piss.”

He just needed to get away from Damianos and his inquisitive eyes and the reflection in them, the knowledge that Laurent had royally fucked this up. First at Marlas, and now here in Vere. 

There was more information to be found in that town. Between them, they could have gotten close enough to someone to find the source of the animosity towards Akielos. Laurent had cooked up this plan precisely to snuff out the source and instead he had fled from some pathetic aristocrat. He could at least have punished Aimeric before he left. 

“Better?” Damianos asked, when Laurent returned.

“Are you asking about my toilet habits?”

“Let’s find shelter before the storm hits.” 

“There are caves in the foothills,” Laurent said.

“Yes, I do understand topgraphy,” Damianos said. “This is where you want to go?” Laurent knew he meant does the spoiled prince want to spend another night in the wilds? As if he could not handle it. “There might be time to get back to the town,” Damianos said. 

“I’d rather not go backwards,” Laurent said. “If we head towards Aquitart, we can regroup. I have contacts. You can make arrangements to reuinte with your men.” 

“The quest for our agitator?”

“You can go where you please,” Laurent said. “Go sweet talk Aimeric. Scare him. Get the information whatever brutish way your heart desires.”

“That’s not —” Damianon began, then stopped, and mounted his horse again. “The sky is getting darker,” he said. “Let’s move.”

Before long, fat drops of rain plopped onto Laurent’s head. He learned that Damianos was, of course, the kind of person who effortlessly continued through rainfall as if it did not exist. Wet hair suited him. Wet clothes complimented him. Laurent himself had the look of a drowned rat and though utterly confident in his control of his horse, he could not control nature and felt the slip of hooves once or twice as the ground got slippy. It was good that the arrogant Prince of Akielos had insisted on taking the lead. At least he did not witness Laurent’s struggles.

He wasn’t paying him attention anyway. Damianos was constantly scanning their surroundings.

“The caves are much the same,” Laurent said. “We should move until the rain gets too heavy to allow it.”

“We need to find space enough for two prize horses and two princes,” Damianos said. “But I am more concerned about who might be lurking  
about the place.”

“Have you seen anything?” Laurent’s senses went on high alert. He had not seen anything. But he had been distracted by the swirl of his messy mind. He had neither the skills nor training of the great warrior Damianos. The accounts of his greatness were many and varied and usually told by awestruck Akielons. Damianos managed to call a truce where he should have called a battle and still be beloved by his blood-thirsty people.

A little bit like Auguste, if you thought about.

King of a country that adored trickery, and he was so far best known for making a straightforward agreement with the son of the enemy nation. Still the people loved the bright gold King. Even after the dark days right after his ascension. Days Laurent would atone for all of his life.

“Are you all right?” Damianos asked, like he saw something in Laurent that Laurent did not want to be seen.

“Of —” Laurent did not get to finish the sentence. The whiz of an arrow, flying through the air towards him, ended any conversation. He ducked, attempted to move the horse, waited for the impact.

The impact did not come.

Damianos had averted it, somehow, too fast for Laurent to see. His sword was out, his horse was moving, and he had placed himself in front of Laurent.

“Behind —” He began and both of them were moving behind the nearest big tree. Even through the rising panic Laurent noted that Damianos needed a much larger tree than him to conceal himself. “It might be a warning,” he said. 

“They can’t know who we are,” Laurent said, as another arrow embedded itself in the tree trunk.

“What about —?” 

Aimeric. He didn’t see them. He hadn’t seen Laurent in years. He definitely would not have expected to see his prince in a grubby workers hall near the border. No. Aimeric had wanted attention as a boy and was probably rebelling as a young man in order to get it. 

Laurent shook his head. This was not the time for conversation.

Another arrow. Brown leaves fell around them with the impact.

“We’re students,” Laurent called. “Passing through. We mean you no harm.”

Another arrow. And another, from a different direction. More than one attacker.

“Six,” Damianos said. That was the type of thing he just knew. “Wait here,” he said and left the cover of the trees with his sword raised, his body primed for fighting.

No-one would ever believe he was just a humble scholar now. He rode out from behind the tree every inch the warrior, everything about his posture radiating strength and power. If these bandits had a modicum of intelligence, they would flee at first sight. 

Arrows flew towards the Prince of Akielos and Damianos either avoided or ignored them. It was all so fast, Laurent could not be sure. He couldn't look at anything but the charging horse and Damianos on its back, fighting brave and brilliant. He heard the first man fall to the earth, the awful clash of horseflesh and the strike of a sword. He felt the sweat on his back, the beat of his heart, and every cowardly inch of himself. Laurent the shirker who will not join his army. Laurent the weakling prince. 

Once, he had asked Auguste how he got to be so brave.

Auguste had laughed and said he felt no different than any man. He was just better at hiding his fear because that was duty of a prince. The people of Vere deserved a brave King, someone bright to follow in the darkness.

Laurent thought he could pretend not to be scared.

The Prince of Akielos deserved someone to fight by his side.

So he turned his horse, flew over the mud, and followed Damianos into the fray.


	8. Chapter 8

There were three men bleeding into the puddles and three more engaged with Damianos. They saw Laurent coming but did not act as if he was worthy of their attention. Neatly, Laurent eliminated the nearest attacker. A precise slice to the neck was all it took.

  
There were two, now, an even fight. Laurent pushed towards the next nearest man, noting his dirty face and filthy mishmashed clothing. He was older, more experienced, but Laurent was filled with pent up rage and found that he enjoyed the first collision of steal, the power of the sword, the ringing sound it made, the way he felt all through his body.

  
Normally, Laurent approached fighting with intellectualism and strategy. It had always made the most sense to him.

  
It had never been like this — raw and angry. He did not care who this man was, what his intentions were, or for the grim determination on his weather beaten face. He cared to win and he cared to eliminate that useless frustration that had itched at him since he’d seen Aimeric.

  
He saw the chance to end it, and drew the man in for another round. There’d be another chance.

  
He raised his sword for a clean slice downward but the other man threw the whole weight of himself and his horse against Laurent. The sword hit the mud. Laurent lost his balance as the horse lost its obedience. He tried to reclaim something - weapon, balance, strength, he wasn’t sure — but then there was a shadow and the slap of mud.

  
Damianos had dismounted his own horse and still managed to run the sword through the back of the other man.

  
Laurent let himself hit the ground. Damianos signaled something, but Laurent did not know these Akielon soldier signals and the ache in his shoulder was making it difficult to think. He wasn’t able to to move his right shoulder at all.

Which was unfortunate.

Damianos had been wrong.

There was more than six men in the woods.

He stepped backwards towards Laurent, a defensive movement, as four more crept into their line of sight. These were rested, ready to fight, and clearly annoyed at the deaths of their companions.

Laurent had a knife in his boot and he retrieved it with his left hand. Damianos wielded his word with both hands.

“Careful,” he said, before he attacked. The first two men didn’t stand a chance. Damianos killed them with ruthless efficiency, the kind Laurent might have admired if he could think straight. He knew his brother would have been impressed. The third man was more skilled, most likely a soldier in some former life or at least a guard on a merchant wagon train. . He held his own against Damianos, like he knew the weakspots in Akielon technique. He had probably fought in Delfeur.

Laurent was forced to think about what might had have happened if Auguste had fought Damianos in Delfeur.

But it was not the time for thinking. Not with rain-drenched ground and the chance of more men in the trees and spooked horse and an injured shoulder. He saw his chance. Damianos fought this man. He knocked his sword away and used the spare moment to break the neck of the last man. The fighter got back up. Damianos engaged him again. There was a fire in his eyes Laurent had not seen before.

He was _enjoying_ this.

Idiot.

Survival was more important.

Wincing through the agony in his shoulder, Laurent forced himself to move. He shoved his dagger right into the side of the fighting man’s neck.

There was resistance which he was not expecting. He barely moved before the blood sprayed out.

“I had it,” Damianos said.

“You were wasting time,” Laurent said. “This isn’t a game.”

He could have launched a veritable tirade against the prince but his energy was gone. His legs were weak. He was pathetically grateful for the presence of a tree to slump against. It was that or the ground.

He saw the exact moment the fire went out of Damianos’s eyes and reality came back to him. The metal smell of blood. Somewhere a whimper, from someone taking some time to die. It was little wonder Damianos was famed on the battlefield. Laurent realised he was one of those people — the ones who could detach themselves when the moment called for it and come back later, when they had lived through whatever it was they needed to live through.

That was not a gift he possessed.

“There might be more,” Laurent said.

“You’re hurt,” Damianos said, and he was in front of Laurent in a flash. His eyes were full of concern now, and it was nearly impossible to consider this was the same brutal fighter who had put eight men in the ground without breaking a sweat. Laurent had taken just two, and he was drenched.

It’s nothing, he wanted to say but couldn’t because the ache in his shoulder was a pain greater than almost any he had felt in his life. There was wetness on his face, hot, blood. It was not rain. A sting, then, as Damianos gently swiped his thumb against the graze. Laurent must have scratched it when he hit the ground.

It was strange that Damianos could be so gentle, now, after the raw violence of the fight. He held himself so carefully. He gazed right into Laurent’s eyes and it was warm, despite the cool rain. Laurent was warm, under his skin.

“He didn’t get me,” Laurent said, because it felt important to say that. No dirty bandit penetrated him with a cheap knife to the shoulder. Damianos’s hands came to his shoulders and Laurent cried out, a noise he was ashamed of, and Damianos took his hand away from the left shoulder. “It’s not that one.”

“I know,” he said, with some unknown amusement. “It’s dislocated.”

“I figured.”

Laurent wondered how he was going to ride a horse with one shoulder out of commission. He considered where to find a capable physician.

You couldn’t let just anyone handle the health of a prince.

Then his mind went blank, the world went black, and Damianos the sadist barbarian put his shoulder back in the correct location.

Like any good Veretian, Laurent had an extensive arsenal of filthy curse words ready and waiting to sling at people at deserving times. In this moment, none of them were sufficient. He let out a strangled yelp and hated himself for the noise.

“You’ll have to bind it.” Damianos’s voice sounded very far away. “A sling should for now. Here.” He tore away a sodden piece of one of the dead mens’s cloak. Right. It was raining. Laurent grew fixated by the drops of rain running down Damianos’s face.

“I can do it myself.” He was sure he’d figure out how to fix himself a sling. Damianos accepted this and began to…assess the fallen. Practiced, methodically, he surveyed their belongings. He set aside the weapons and one large fur and began to drag the bodies together as if they were nothing more than fire wood.

“Used to this?” Laurent asked.

“In the Akielon army, we work together to bury our dead. I don’t hang back and let others do it,” Damianos said with solemnity. Fighter, warrior but he did not take death lightly. Laurent saw it in the way he moved, the way he covered their faces.

Laurent looked at the weapons. There was a spear that would do him nicely. You could throw a spear with one hand out of action. Probably. It was beside the bow. Damianos was looking, too.

“We don’t have time to bury them,” he said. “The ground is too soft in this weather. We can’t delay. A cave maybe but..”

“There might be more.”

“I imagine they would have shown themselves by now.”

“Or gone for re-enforcements,” Laurent said. “We should move. I want that spear.”

“Get it, then.”

Laurent said, “There was a second archer.”

Damianos went still, and swore under his breath. “Come here,” he said.

Laurent stepped, carefully, and heard a footstep that was not his own. He wanted to run, but his legs wouldn’t work, and then there was the cold kiss of steel against his neck and the hot breath of a stranger, too.

“Don’t move,” the man said. The second archer.

“Don’t even think about hurting him,” Damianos said. That was stupid. Now the second archer would think Laurent was someone of value. “You think you can win where your friends could not?”

“They’re not my friends,” the archer said with the guttural markers of a Vaskian accent. Not Veretian then.

Damianos cocked his head. “You don’t have any friends. If you did, you would have ran back to them instead of sacrificing your worthless life here. You can still run.”

“He could be my friend,” the archer said, and his grip tightened. Laurent felt it, the pressure on his body, but he felt also like it was happening to someone else. Maybe the old him, the young him, who’d let things like this happen without fighting back. He’d always thought he’d fight now, but the prospect of a blade through throat made him rather immobile.

“Laurent, don’t move. No matter what,” Damianos said.

“He moves, he dies. You move, he dies.”

“I thought you wanted a friend,” Damianos said. “Have him, then. I won’t die for a boy I hardly know.”

The archer’s grip slacked, ever so slightly.

Damianos flicked his wrist in a movement that was almost casual and the dagger Laurent had discarded was whipping through the air.

Don’t move.

He heard the sickening impact but he didn’t look to see what part of the archer’s face Damianos had impaled. The man fell. Laurent stumbled forward, hearing the agonised scream but listening only to the fall of the rain. Damianos was at his side, offering his sword.

“My shoulder,” Laurent said, regretfully, and Damianos was the one who silenced the archer. No pomp or ceremony, just the thrust of a sword and then his focus back on Laurent. “I’m fine,” Laurent said, because he was choking with embarrassment. Damianos touched the side of his face, for the second time. “Not mine,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why would you be sorry?”

“I should have realised there was only one archer accounted for.”

Laurent waited to bristle. This was where he wanted to say that he did not require Damianos’s protection and they were equally responsible. In fact, Laurent should have been sorry for striking out like this just because he saw a face from his past.

He said, “You saved my life.”

“You never thought I wouldn’t.”

That was true, too, though Laurent never would have articulated it. He knew when Damianos said his name the archer was going to die. Maybe he knew was soon as the man touched him.

“No-one’s going to look for these men,” Laurent said, after a beat. “If they had allies the second archer would have ran as you said.”

“But if some guard come across them, they might come looking for us.” Damianos was dragging the archer over to the rest of the men. “It’s too wet for a fire,” he said. “I’ll wrap them and we’ll use your horse to take them to the water. It won’t take long. “

Laurent nodded. “I did ask how you were at throwing daggers,” he said, mostly to himself. “Now I know.”

-  
It took longer than it would have if Laurent’s shoulder hadn’t taken itself out of commission. At various times in his life, Laurent had hated different parts of his body. He never thought his right shoulder would fall into that category, from an avoidable injury, and he was meant to be a highly skilled horserider. A stabbing would have been better. At least he’d have a scar to take back to Auguste.

“We’ll just go far enough to avoid any patrols,” Damianos was saying. “There won’t be any more bandits in this part of the woods.”

“You’re sure they were simple bandits.”

“I don’t think they were the raiders,” he said. “They were too skinny to be paid and too reckless to be fighting for any cause. We probably seemed like easy targets.”

“Two humble scholars out here mapping the stars.” With a look at the grey sky. None to be seen that night for sure.

“Take my hand,” Damianos said. “Don’t do your shoulder any further damage.”

So Laurent endured being helped onto the back of Damianos’s horse. Well, it was large enough to accommodate two people. And Laurent’s injured shoulder meant he was better off riding pillion. He could have managed his horse one-handed but it might not have been fair on the horse. To be fair to this horse, Laurent had to press himself close to Damianos. He had to accept the lack of control, the view of Damianos’s shoulders, and the curious realisation that although he expected this ordeal to feel one way, it actually felt another.

They put distance enough between themselves and the sight of the attack, grateful for the thick covering of trees that kept the worst of the rain at bay. Another time, Laurent might have insisted they press straight on to somewhere where he could assert authority but the sky was so dark and he kept imagining a phantom blade at his throat.

“That’s enough for now,” Damianos said, breaking the silence after a long quiet journey where leading two horses over muddy, rocky terrain took all of his attention. “You need to rest. The horses need to rest.”

“I’m in the same category as the horses now. Lovely.”

“As if you would have it any different,” Damianos said, dismounting, and offering his hand again. Laurent would have been priggish to refuse though instinct screamed at him to do so. He wished he had been wearing his gloves. He wished Damianos’s hand wasn’t so large, so warm.

“Your highness,” he said, with an equally warm smile.

“Princes don’t acknowledge attendants,” Laurent replied. “I — I should thank you.”

“For attending you?”

“No.”

“It’s not necessary. Come, let’s make shelter. I can bind your shoulder after, and you will be better able to ride in the morning. Here near the caves, there should be wood dry enough for a fire.”

“My shoulder will be fine until I get to a physician.” The thought of disrobing enough to have Damianos bandage his body was too much for Laurent. He found it hard to believe he was the same person who had let the Prince sleep beside him the night before. Some personal challenges took longer to overcome. Laurent gave his attention to the horses. Damianos set the fire, doled out some food, and set out two of the dead bandit’s cloaks on the ground of the cave.

“It’s not like they’ll need it now,” he said, nearly defensively.

“I hope you checked them for fleas,” Laurent said, but he sat without hesitation with his legs crossed beneath him. Everything was awkward with one arm in a sling. He pretended not to notice that Damianos pushed the smaller morsels of food towards him and kept the dried meat and hard bread that needed tearing for himself. “Your father won’t thank you for bringing pests back to his palace.”

Damianos shook out his hair. “I’ll leave them behind in Acquitart.”

Laurent wondered what his own father would make of that — the Crown Prince of Akielos in their ancestral home. Auguste, he knew, would probably laugh and order the slaughter of a cow.

“I’m not sure if that’s the best place,” Laurent admitted. “I suggested it impulsively.”

Damianos did not respond. He was busy divesting himself of outerwear and Laurent would not watch that so had no idea if there was any reaction to what he just said. Rescinding an invite like that was quite the insult. Thick-skinned as he was, Damianos would certainly recognise that. He was feted from first breath; it was unlikely he got too many refusals in his life.

“So, you’ve run the full gamut of roughing it now, your highness. This is surely worse than you imagined.”

“Marlas was worse.”

“Of course.”

“I meant I—”

“I was only teasing.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“But you were so prissy about sleeping outdoors. Poor delicate Laurent.”

He felt the heat in his cheeks, though ever other part of him was ice cold.

Damianos turned around. “Laurent,” he said. “You’re shivering.”

“It was raining.” How else would a body be after that soaking?

“It’s shock,” Damianos said. “Go closer to the fire.”

Laurent shifted approximately two inches closer.

Damianos said. “Don’t kill me,” and then his hands were moving and Laurent’s over clothes were being efficiently stripped from his body. “It’s only because you’re injured, your highness,” he said, and pulled away Laurent’s boots from his feet. He spread the wet clothes on dry rocks near the fire. He looked younger that ever before, with the fire dancing on the plains of his face, and just a thin white shirt on his upper half. Laurent had seen him in less but that hadn’t been so…it hadn’t been like this.

“I’ve killed before,” Laurent said.

“At the workers hall, you looked like you had seen a ghost.”

Laurent warmed his hands in front of the fire. Well, the hand that he could move. The sling had been re-tied.

Damianos said, “Do you want to talk —”

“No,” Laurent cut him off. “Just…I was hasty, I admit. I will not make that mistake again. I am sorry for —”

“I’ve been hasty, too.”

“By aligning yourself with me?”

“Well, yes.” Smiling. Inching closer. No, not inching, just moving deliberately. Laurent’s heart was somewhere in his throat and he forced himself to watch, because the smile was friendly and not at all predatory. This was Damianos. “You’ll catch your death if you don’t warm up. That fire is barely a spark,” he said.

“I forgot it gets colder the closer you get to the mountains.”

“When I was eighteen,” Damianon said, “I led some men North. They’d never been away from the peninsula before. Every night, they stripped down and bedded down skin to skin to keep warm. It’s best practice to retain body heat. You share it.”

North towards Delfeur, he meant. The start of the brutal campaign. All those soldiers slain the wake of Damiano’s army. Laurent wondered at himself for how easily he let the thought go.

“They do that with babies. I read it in a book.”

“Interesting reading choices.” They were shoulder to shoulder, but not skin to skin. Not closer than they’d been on the horse but Lauren couldn’t see Damianos’s face on the horse. “The bravest of the guard would say, Damen join us but —”

“You had someone to warm your bed.”

“I took watch.” His breath fogged the air. “I don’t think there’s any need to take watch here.”

Nor did Laurent. He had assessed every inch of the landscape on the last leg of the ride. There was nothing here but wilderness.

“A prince should always be on his guard,” Laurent said.

“You should rest,” Damianos said. “Put your weight on me so you don’t jostle your shoulder. I’ll watch.” He extended his arm and Laurent didn’t have the heart to leave him hanging. Half of Arles, and all of his guard, would tell you Laurent of Vere was an ice-cold bitch. Yet here he was, rendered weak as a puppy by the openness of Damianos’s eyes.

Laurent felt like his bones were all off their hinges as he shifted towards Damianos.

Truth be told, he was not used to touching.

Even his brother, the closest person in his life, stayed away since that one unfortunate flinch.

This was what soldiers did, Laurent told himself.

But they were princes.

And the second he had surrendered, Damianos shifted and they were…well, sprawled was the only word that came to mind.

“What I meant to say,” Damianos said, speaking as if this was a normal way to sit. Or lie. It was closer to lying. Perhaps it was normal for him. “Is that I have been hasty these last months. Nikandros counseled me to take care. My father downright ordered it. But… I just didn’t want to be there. I wanted to do anything else.”

“Be where?” Curiosity outweighed the pressing idea that Damianos was offering him some personal tidbit in exchange for the humiliation Laurent had suffered. If Laurent was as clever as he was meant to be, he would have refused to get drawn into this conversation. He would have conducted himself as if nothing embarassing had happened at all.

“Ios,” Damianos said. “I don’t want to be in Ios.”

Honesty stung, though it should not have. The boy in Laurent, who still recalled fairy tales sometimes, had ideas about the importance of quests and the company you keep. Laurent the adult knew that you were never as important to other people as you wanted to be.

“Shirking your duties already?”

"You don’t really think that.” He sighed from deep in his chest. “Did you know I am going to be an uncle too? One more thing we have in common.”

“I didn’t know that,” Laurent said, thinking of how abrupt he had been when Damianos brought up Auguste’s impending fatherhood.“Congratulations.”

“There was a woman,” Damianos continued. “Is a woman. The Lady Jokaste.”

The name triggered a memory of a mention in one of Damianos’s letters to Auguste. Laurent had not cared then for news of a potential match for the Crown Prince of Akielos just as long as it had no political bearing on Vere. Had he taken up with a Patran Princess or Daughter of the Empire, Laurent might have looked up from his breakfast that morning.

“You were an item,” Laurent said.

“And now she is having a baby for my brother,” Damianos replied. “Funny how life goes.”

“Did you love her?”

Another deep breath. “You’re the first person who asked me that,” Damianos said. “I…thought I did. Or was growing to. I loved the idea of her. I loved the challenge of her. But I don’t think I knew her at all.”

“You left and she took up with your brother.”

“She didn’t wait until I left.”

“Oh,” said Laurent. “Well, that’s bastards for you. Never to be trusted.”

“He’s still my brother, Laurent.”

“He’s still an untrustworthy bastard is he not?”

“I suppose.” His lip curled a little; a smile that was suppressed. “I could have given her everything. I would have, I think, if…no,” he said, then, resolute. “I suppose I would not. That’s what she saw and I didn’t.”

“This is only half a story,” Laurent said. “I pity your future children if you can’t even cobble together a good fireside story. It’s little wonder the illustrious Lady Jokaste threw you over.”

“She was presented to my father and it was like she was the only person on earth. Ladylike, reserved a little like … never mind,” Damianos said. “I pursued her for three months before she went to bed with me.”

“Eager, aren’t you? For a man who could get anyone.”

“My affections weren’t enough. She wanted power and I wanted fun,” Damianos said. “I remember her saying, _they’re training for First Night still Damen,_ like there was something wrong with that. I remember people asking about the future and pretending not to know what they were talking about. It was…it was like the fighting, you know? It felt the same in my chest when we were together.”

Laurent didn’t know. He tried to hide how little he knew.

“Isn’t that how it is with princes and consorts?” he asked. “It’s always about power.”

“Not for me.”

“Because you were born with it,” Laurent said.

“I’d never been so hurt as that night I commanded the slave boy to speak,” Damianos continued. “Well.” He glanced towards his abdomen.“Maybe one other time. If either of them had said to me, _Damen I want this_ I would have stepped aside. I never thought…and when it came out,it was my shoulder my father’s hand came down hard upon. He made me stay. He made me publicly ignore her for the sake of others and work in the palace until a suitable assignment could be found.”

“Yes,” said Laurent. “That was right. You’re going to be King.”

“I’m not sure there’s anything more humiliating than being made a cuckold by your own brother,” Damianos said. “Not exactly what a people want from their King.”

“I can think of a thing or two more humiliating,” Laurent said. Damen said nothing, so he tried a different approach. “We hear in Vere your virility pleases the people in Akielos.”

Damianos did not react to Vere’s thoughts on Akielos they way he normally did.

There was no delicate way to put this. “The child…”

“No. No. I’ve been gone from Ios a long time.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Laurent said, because it was the right thing to do. You were meant to acknowledge pain like that. Also, he meant it. He was sorry for Damianos that he suffered, even though he had spent many years wishing every kind of ill on the Crown Prince of Akielos. He wished to inflict some pain himself, not wish it away. Plans changed. Here they were on the mountain. Laurent had been years hating what Damianos represented, never thinking of him as a real person with real feelings beneath those corded muscles.

“Thank you,” Damianos said. “Are you warmer? You’ve stopped shivering.”

“Yes, nurse.” Laurent was not impressed with the questioning. He made sure to express that through the tone of his voice. Sardonicism came easy to him. “You know me well enough by now to know news of you hurting will warm me to my core.”

“That’s not true. I think you relish the humiliation more than pain. Nikandros says, how can it be humiliating if no-one else knows but —”

“Of course secrets can be humiliating,” Laurent interrupted. “Nikandros is really not that smart, is he?”

“He held his own in your negotiations,” Damianos said, and that pleased Laurent for himself not the kyros. “Do you relish it still?” The tone of voice changed, reverted to serious.

“Auguste told me about a year ago I need to leave the past in the past,” Laurent said. “I’m not completely disobedient when my King gives me an order.”

“Only partly.”

“I had an image, drawn by a bad memory,” Laurent said. “It may not have been entirely accurate. When you go back…it will be difficult to face them?”

“I haven’t looked that far ahead,” Damen said. “It doesn’t really matter anyway. That future is set. Mine is not.”

“Did you forget that you’re going to be King of Akielos?”

“Never,” he said.

“Funny,” Laurent said. “I did, for a second. I have that as a weapon to use now, you know. Damianos of Akielos, cuckolded by his own brother and betrayed by his lover.”

“Go to sleep, Laurent.” He sounded like Auguste. Something about the inflection.

Something like fondness.

Laurent did not do as he was told, especially not by the future King of Akielos. But he was tired down to his marrow and the paltry fire was actually rather warm. He rested, and eventually he slept, and too soon he woke. Damen had tensed beside him. The fire was embers. The night was nothing but shadows, heavy clouds and a starless sky.

The only sound was the click of a crossbow, aimed right between Damen’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, guys. be kind to yourselves :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW : some violence/torture/threats in this chapter  
> (Honestly, I don't know what I should warn for with CP fic because canon is so...well, you know how it is. but i don't want to upset anyone either)

They didn’t give a warning, so Damen knew they were not Akielon. By their dress, he knew they were not Veretian either. Five intruders was not an unreasonable to number to take down. Except he couldn’t fight and protect Laurent, so Damen slowly held his hands in front of him when his instincts screamed to fight back.

“Up,” said one intruder, and Damen obeyed. It did something to his chest to see the awkward way Laurent got to his feet due to his injury. The fire was gone and the night was dark. All Damen could make out was shapes. “Out,” said the same person, and they made their way from the mouth of the cave. There was a little more light here, but not enough to see anything discernible.

“You are going to regret this,” Laurent said, as if a crossbow was not trained at him too. “That’s a promise.”

“You killed those men in the river.” Someone came forward, wrapped in furs, carrying themselves like a leader. A woman with the features and accent of Vask. 

“It was self-defence,” Damen said. “We —”

“Wait,” Laurent said, stepping past Damen. Did he not see the crossbow? He regarded the leader of this group as a wolf regards a tiger. “You’re far from home, Halvik.”

One of the other riders held a torch towards them. Another woman. One of the Vaskian mountain clans, most likely. Damen couldn’t imagine how Laurent would be familiar with such a people. But then he thought of the raids that happened in Patras and Akielos while Vere escaped unscathed. 

“So are you,” Halvik replied, “Your Highness. What are you doing lost in the woods?”

“What a prince does in the woods is not for you to question.” Damen spoke without thinking. A series of titters went through the group.

“Sounds like a bad joke,” said one of the women.

“He’s protective,” Laurent said, as Damen was a territorial dog. “But an excellent guard. Calm yourself, please, I know these women.” 

Damen endured. 

“Yes, this is a situation that shows his worth as a guard.” The light shone on Damen now. “The physique may be intimidating, Your Highness, but I’m not sure the brain is up to standard.”

“Our plans got turned around when those bandits attacked,” Laurent said.

“Will he growl at me if I ask those plans?”

“Will your ladies glare at me if I question what has brought you so far into Vere?”

Laurent and Halvik looked at each other. A different kind of fighting. Damen’s arms twitched for the want of taking up his sword.

It was a shock that Laurent gave in first. He said, “You are aware of the growing movement in Vere to strike out at Akielos. I don’t accept it. I’m looking for a man who’s been fanning the flames of discontent among my people. He goes by the initial T.”

Damen felt the women react to that. They knew something.

No-one had ever said the agitator was a man. Damen had simply assumed.

“You ask for help?” Halvik said.

“I told you my plans,” Laurent said. “If you can help, I can refrain from sending all of you to a Veretian cell for trespass. Or an Akielon one. They are all on the lookout for the people who sacked Tarasis.”

“I know the man you mean,” Halvik said, eventually. 

“Take us to him,” Laurent said. Damen’s annoyance was steadily over-ridden by fascination at the way Laurent conducted himself now. He was not the petulant princeling he had been at Marlas. Nor was he showing lately any of the glimpses at naivete Damen had seen before. This was probably the way he was in his own country. This was how Damen was, a lot of the time. Laurent switched to Vaskian, but it was not the language of the court that Damen spoke fluently. It was rougher and he struggled to catch snatches of words. 

“Tell your guard to stand down,” Halvik said, as one of the women approached.

Shocking himself, Damen said, “I’d be a piss-poor guard if I let you take us blind.” He drew up to his full height, and made sure they could see he was serious about their safety.

Until Laurent’s hand came gently on his forearm. “It’s fine,” he said, quietly. “We go.”

“But—”

“I would have made contact at Acquitart. This saves me the bother.”

So Damen accepted this. He had little choice but to gather their belongings like a slave while Laurent conferred with Halvik. At least they had confirmation the men they killed were mere highwaymen and no-one important. That would have been a comfort if one of the women was not chastising his method for packing the horse.

“This one, too.” She nodded at Damen’s mount.

“I ride that one,” he said, in Vaskian, which made her look at him differently. “The Prince, too.”

“You’d be a piss poor guard,” the woman said, “If you attempted to ride blind-folded.”

“It’s a matter of security,” Halvik said, like she had respect for Damen’s fake position.

“It’s a show of good faith.” Laurent pressed his lips together as Halvik handed him a blindfold. “My guard will do it,” he said. 

Damen took the strip of cloth and placed it over Laurent’s eyes. Laurent had eyes which should not be covered. But Damen should not have been thinking that. Nor should he have acknowledged any of the other thoughts that came to mind at the dim sight of Laurent’s face half-obscured by the blindfold. Laurent's hair was tangled at the back, from exertion and the way he was lying, and Damen had to unknot that in order to knot the cloth. 

It was soft.

“Please don’t be hasty,” Laurent muttered, before stepping back and allowing himself to be assisted onto the back of Halvik’s horse. 

“I’ll do it myself,” Damen barked at the girl who approached him with a similar strip of cloth.

“Kneel so she can do it,” Laurent called. 

Damen compromised by crouching.

He did not need help getting onto his own horse.

“Good mount,” said the woman who had acquisitioned the reins. “You did well to steal it such an expensive beast.”

“Thank you,” said Damen. “They say it’s fit for a prince.”  
-

The terrain grew rockier and Damen paid careful attention to the route taken. He was confident of his ability to escape if need be. Dawn had broken by the time they stopped at a neat, bustling camp halfway up a craggy hill. These Vaskian clanswomen had many admirable attributes, he decided, when they weren’t pointing crossbows in Laurent’s face. They were skilled riders, had managed to sneak up on him and kept a good camp. If they could really lead him and Laurent to the man causing havoc along the border well, Damen might learn to see them as more than invaders of villagers and thieves of food.

A young woman walked by, with a long dark braid pulled over one shoulder, wearing a skimpy tunic that highlighted her full breasts. He could see her nipples, peaked by the dawn chill, through the rough fabric. When she saw him looking, her brown eyes twinkled.

Laurent cleared his throat. “Dare I ask for your attention?”

“A master does not ask,” Damen said. “Tell me, is this ruse necessary?”

“Perhaps I just enjoy it.” Laurent stood close enough so they would not be overheard. “Or perhaps your work with Torveld of Patras is known in these parts. This may take some time, so you needn’t look so disappointed. Are you familiar with the clan customs?”

“Not really.” His father and tutors had been more concerned with him learning the ways of foreign courts. But his mind was elsewhere, even as he took in the routes in and out of the the camp, the number of clanswomen and the kinds of weapons they carried. He’d seen these people as nothing more than ruthless invaders. That was the experience of those in Northern Akielos and in their friend county Patras. He’d fought people like these before, thought it had mostly been about pushing them back and setting up systems to stop them getting in in the first place.

He thought them barbaric invaders, and had not given pause to think of them coming to life at the break of day. Had not thought of them as people worthy of understanding.

As Vere had Akielos.

“Well, you’ll see,” Laurent continued. “Just follow my lead.”

-

Damen took it as a good thing, when both he and Laurent were permitted to sit in on the clan discussion of how best to find the man known as T. (Although Laurent had the better vantage point, Damen had the better experience as one of the fine young women poured him water and offered him hot cooked eggs and flatbread to eat.) Vaskians did more than one thing at a time, which Damen appreciated for the sake of efficiency. He also appreciated the peasant breakfast with relish and did not question the source of the eggs.

“Your master is different from his brother,” the woman observed. 

“Younger,” Damen said.

“Quieter,” she replied. 

Damen learned the man they sought was called Trude, and he was expelled from Skarva after he had spoken out against the Empress. The inferior status of men in the Vaskian court was infamous and part of Damen did not blame any man for attempting to change things. The  
Empress did not kill the man, because he was no more than an upstart and she let it be known his words were beneath her. Like many men who had fled the confines of Vaskian society, he made his way to the fringes and eked out a living as a raider here.

At first.

“Trude tried to take over many female clans,” Halvik told Laurent. “What a fool. Talking about changing the system.”

“You also let him live?” Laurent said, from his languid position on Halvik’s dais. He was cushioned by plush furs and lounged like a cat, paying no heed to the injured shoulder. "On order of the Empress?"

Halvik grinned, her face crinkling in a way that was strangely enjoyable to see, and made a motion with two of her fingers that made them into a mock guilliontine. Damen winced. He thought he saw Laurent legs shift, then go still again, as if he was suppressing the urge to cross his knees.

“He tried to take the clans. You know how men try to show they have taken things,” Halvik said.

“With their cocks,” explained one of the women in halting Veretian while pointing to Damen’s crotch.

“Thank you,” said Damen, in response to the needless explanation. 

“The message is louder if the person lives to tell the tale,” Halvik said. 

“The voice is higher now, too,” said one of the other women. Damen thought these Vaskian clanswomen needed a lesson in biology, perhaps. He thought they could perhaps teach his soldiers some things in exchange. 

“You are sure this is the same man causing trouble in my country?” Laurent said.

“Quite sure. My friend in Nesson-Elloy has seen the activity first hand. Also…” she paused to glance at Damen. “Is he loyal to you or Akielos?”

“Akielos,” Damen said. “No offence, Your Highness.”

“Is he obedient?” Halvik rephrased her question.

“He is sitting right there,” Laurent said. “Address him, if you wish.”

“We have observed their camp over the last few days,” Halvik said. “They have Akielon tools, Akielon weapons and a sacks of grain marked the property of the Akielon town of Tarasis.”

Damen nodded, despite the rage that bubbled beneath the surface. How else was he to react at the reminder of the destruction of that innocent town? 

“They’re used to fighting at night,” Halvik said.

“Then we attack in the daytime,” Damen said. “Is it far?” Laurent nodded, now, indicating either that he approved or that it was fine for his supposed guard to take over like this. Then again, this was the remit of guards. Princes weren’t meant to get their hands dirty, especially in Vere. 

“Not that far,” Halvik said.

“Talk me through the approach,” Damen said.

-  
These women knew how to plan an attack, he’d give them that much. They knew these lands, knew clan warfare, knew the patterns of the lookouts and the points of entry and retreat. They bristled, slightly, at his suggestions but when he demonstrated the logic they accepted the amendments. There was some debate about what to do with the young prince, who was currently eating sweetmeats on Halvik’s dais. He’d slow them down,they thought. The King of Vere would not be pleased if he died out here.

Laurent had not revealed his shoulder injury to the Vaskians, so Damen did not. Damen thought about the way Laurent had fought with him in the arena in Marlas. He thought about the quiet shame he had witnessed in him yesterday when those bandits managed to get close to Laurent. It hadn’t mattered. They had won against several men and escaped relatively unscathed. But inexperienced fighters counted things differently. 

They didn’t understand that blood and breaks didn’t matter as long as you still breathed.

It would hurt Laurent to be left behind.

He able to fight, given the chance.

Damen said, “It would be a waste of manpower to leave a guard with him. We cannot leave him unprotected.”

The women were not convinced.

Damen said, “He is mine to protect. You need not think of him on the field.”

They still gave him flat looks.

Laurent appeared at Damen’s shoulder, and gave a cursory glance to the plans. “You all know of my brother, the King,” he said. “His reputation as a swordsman is unparalleled. Who do you think trained me?”

That threw Damen, though it should not have. Kastor had helped Damen learn technique. Damen had the scars to prove it. He had sparred with Laurent and never considered the influence of his older brother — the one who so many people were convinced could have beaten Damen on the field. Laurent had done such a good job of portraying his solitude, setting himself apart, Damen had nearly forgotten he had a family. His parents died around the time of the truce. There was an uncle, somewhere. A sister-in-law and a baby on the way.

Like Damen, he had a whole life outside of this mission. He was a whole person. 

“I’m not asking permission,” Laurent said. “Don’t forget who you are dealing with here.”

The women acquiesced.

“We need a moment to prepare,” Damen said. “Is there a tent we might use?”

“Ah,” said Halvik. “Veretian customs. I understand. Right this way.” 

She had them brought to a squat but well-appointed tent. There was water for washing, which Laurent seemed more relieved to see than Damen. It made more sense to wash after the battle.

“What warning do you wish to give me privately?” Laurent asked. “I will listen, out of respect for your experience as a soldier, but don’t expect me to submit as a new recruit would.”

“Take off your shirt,” Damen said, and he might have enjoyed the brief look of confusion on Laurent’s face. “You need to bind that shoulder if you plan on doing any kind of sword work.”

“It’s fine. You popped it in quite nicely.”

“I’ve heard that before.” Damen advanced. Laurent had nowhere to go in the small tent lest he intended to topple it. “You’ll be a liability if you don’t make reasonable efforts to —”

“All right.” Laurent removed his jacket. Damen stepped back. Laurent shrugged out of only one sleeve of his shirt and gave Damen a pointed look. “Bandages?”

Damen ripped apart the cloth left near the basin which had probably been intended as a towel. “What?” he said, to Laurent’s wide-eyed look. “I doubt they have a medical kit lying around.” He wound the makeshift bandage around Laurent’s pale shoulder. This was skin, he realised, that never saw the sun. It was thoughtless work, so he let his mind drift to the idea of Laurent and his porcelain skin on the sun-drenched shores of Ios. Laurent remained stiff as a statue the entire time. Discomfort, was the second thing Damen realised. Laurent was not used to touching and Damen kept forgetting and foisting himself into his physical space. 

“Soldiers in the Akielon army must learn basic medic skills.” Damen thought distraction was in order. “In case they are separated from their troop. I never had cause to employ these skills before which is—”

“Thank you for the reminder of my incompetence,” Laurent stepped back.

“It’s not secure.” Damen took hold of the bandage again, because he wasn’t about to take hold of Laurent. “I used to daydream about getting lost and having to fend for myself. It seemed exciting, then.”

“And now?” 

Damen had just about finished the wrap. “How does that feel? Too tight?”

Laurent adjusted his shoulder. “It’s fine,” he said.

“Laurent.”

“It’s fine.”  
-  
It was strange to ride out as a member of a group instead of the leader. But these women knew the territory and they seemed to know what they were doing, so Damen did not let his guard down but he went along with the instructions willingly. It was a different kind of warfare than he was used to and there was something subversive about creeping through the Vaskian border like this. His father would never approve. None of the Akielon generals would. Guerrilla attacks were not their way at all. Damen never wanted to displease his father or his people, but he still allowed the tiny thrill that crept up his spine at the strangeness of it all. These hardy women, ready to draw blood as any man, the anonymity and Laurent of Vere by his side with those blue eyes flashing in such a way Damen knew he was enjoying this too.

A spear, thrown by Laurent of the injured shoulder, took down the lookout.

It was well-aimed and well-planned because it also earned him the respect of the women. 

He already had Damen’s respect, gained in different ways than fighting, though that had been a part of it also. 

The women surged forward, and Damen had learned when to hang back. He didn’t know that had happened. He was used to being a leader. But while he knew the style of fighting Vaskians used, had fought them off in Akielos and Patras, he didn’t know about attacking mountain camps.  
The women knew where to strike, where the hiding places were, and that somehow amongst the chaos it was right to show Damen the stash of Akielon weapons in the middle of the clearing.

The first strike was easy but the raiders soon regrouped and fought back. Damen looked at the Akielon weapons. He thought of the Akielon bloodshed.

A nod to Laurent and he ploughed into the fray. These clansmen fought back. No-one lived like them and took the prospect of death lightly. 

None of them were a match for Damen. They didn’t even come close. He didn’t have to think about it — fighting was as simple as breathing when the steal was firm in his hands. Years of practice and dedication and whatever innate skill his father’s genes had passed on made their way to the surface and stripped the rest of him back. Men tried to oppose him, and they ran or they died.

The women expected this. They caught the stragglers.

Laurent observed, mostly, and kept his horse by Damen’s unless it was right for him to move out of the way. One clansman managed to escape one of Damen’s blows but Laurent was there and he neatly ran him down.

“Careful,” Damen said. He didn’t know what he meant to say. That was the word that came out.

The fight was ending and it started to feel like it wasn’t really a fight. This was the kind of thing Theomedes would dismiss as cowardly — an attack, though not unprovoked, certainly un-matched. It wasn’t fair but no fight ever was. Damen was aware of the lack of action in the space, the strangled moans, the fact of another group of men wiped out and his chest twisted. 

But there was no time to think of that. The sound of galloping came behind him, the sound of attack, and he turned, engaged with the other sword half-twisted in his saddle, but his focus was on Laurent and getting him out of the way.

He felt the pressure, the way he had to resist and push back with most of his strength, as this last man used two hands to drive back his sword. Damen was too experienced to get caught in such a waste of his energy, he pulled back, and struck with a series of blows that had served him well against Vaskians before. He’d have to thank Torveld when this was over. The man met them well, again, again and Damen grew bored of that, too, and unleashed one last assault that knocked the man’s sword from his hands.

“Trude, I assume? You’re the scum who cut down that village.” Damen said in Vaskian, with the tip of his sword pressed to where the man’s pulse beat in his throat. For a second, it was like he could feel it through the polished steel but that was his own heartbeat ringing in his ears. It made the rest of him hollow, like there was nothing to him but blood. He made himself remember the sight of the smoking village of Tarasis and all the little violence that had gone before it.

The thought came — that this was the man stirring up hate between Vere and Akielos. This was the man keeping them from friendship.

He looked at Laurent.

“Take him alive,” Laurent said, as Halvik brought her horse beside them. 

“He is right. More information that way.” 

Damen kept his arms tensed. Out of all the men he’d ended, this man derserved to die above all. A little push was all it would take. He thought of the other times in his life tensions should have ended like this and did not. He felt like he’d been denied something.

“Damen,” Laurent said, quietly. 

Damen spat on the ground and pulled his sword back. “Tie him up. Put him with other prisoners,” he said. “Don’t be gentle.”

-  
For the Vaskians, it was a success. They kept the horses, supplies, living men and with a small apologetic look at Damen — the goods that had been taken from Tarasis. They clapped each other on the back and their throaty laughs rang out through the trees. When Damen offered his genuine congratulations on a mission well done, Halvik looked at him like he had no place to be offering her anything at all.

“He is yours, Your Highness,” Halvik said, nodding at the man Trude. She was talking to Laurent, who nodded. Trude was kept separate from the other prisoners and kept under watch. 

“I can do it,” Laurent said, once he and Damen were alone again.

“Kill him?”

“Not yet.”

“You wish to assert your authority as prince among these women?”

Laurent blinked and Damen thought it might be at the harsh tone in his voice, the one he had chased away before. 

Laurent said, “I do not need to do that.” He gave Damen a long look. “You fight like…I have seen it before but…”

“That was nothing.”

“Modest as ever.”

“I meant that those men had no skills to speak of.”

“Oh but they did,” Laurent said. “You just…you reminded me of my brother. That’s all. The women were impressed.” Said in a lighter tone. “Very impressed.”

“If only Akielon women were so impressed by fighting,” Damen said. 

“I’m sure you have no trouble attracting them all the same.”

“No,” said Damen. “But it would be more efficient, don’t you agree?” Laurent’s lip twitched. “It impresses me, you know.”

“Your own skill at fighting?”

“No.”

“Theirs?”

“No.” 

“You should eat with them. I’ll —” A nod to the prisoner. Laurent's gaze averted now, when it had been fixed before.

“No.”

“I’m not scheming.”

Damen sighed. “Together?” He had meant to say that Tarasis was his land, and the dead were his people, and he was the one who captured the son of a bitch who’d caused all this trouble, who’s name had been bandied about since the very first night he and Laurent had pretended to look at the stars.

“All right,” said Laurent. “Should I gather some knives?”

So this wasn’t going to be easy. So this might be more torturous for Damen than the prisoner.

So Laurent looked a little bit…cute because he was unsure, eager and trying to take over all at once.

“Your guard should do that,” Damen said. “If that was something we were going to do.” Laurent had seen him employ some measure of these tactics back in Marlas. But Damen thought differently of Laurent then. And that village boy had not been hard to crack. He’d wager this Trude would be different.

“They have spikes,” Laurent continued. “For the tents. They have axes and hammers and —”

“I could send you in to annoy him to death.”

“Death’s not the goal. Honestly, I thought you were supposed to be good at this.” Laurent shook his head. “You better be good. I was courting on taking this new skill back with me to Arles.”

“You don’t do this in Arles?”

“Not personally. I — it’s not something I’m familiar with, actually. My brother coddles me. I was too lazy for the army, too young for the nitty gritty of statecraft.” Said without the bitterness that had accompanied previous such statements. 

“Well,” said Damen. “You don’t need any special tools to get a man to talk. There’s nothing more powerful than fear.” That seemed to resonate with Laurent, who nodded and followed Damen to Trude’s prison-tent. “You can leave us,” he told the women stationed outside. “You can lead,” he told Laurent. No need to reveal his own identity.

Laurent strode into the dark space, looking every inch the prince in his peasant clothes.

“Hello,” he said, leaning down to look Trude in the face. “You’re the one who’s been causing trouble in my country. I’m going to enjoy doing the same to you.” Trude turned his head. “Ah, ah,” said Laurent, scolding. A sharp tug on Trude’s hair had him looking up right again. 

Trude’s gaze flickered to Damen, who decided standing impassively by the exit was the best place to be right now. Let him think he was a hired goon. He’d cross his arms and wait.

“Tell me,” Laurent continued, conversationally. The prisoner was gagged, and could not respond. “Did it hurt when Halvik cut off your cock? Silly question, of course it did. Let me rephrase. How does it feel now? Does the wound itch? Did it get infected? Did you have to use maggots when it oozed?” 

Damen’s stomach lurched. 

He understood how things were done in Arles. Weapons out of words. The imprint of an idea on your brain forever.

Trude’s eyes widened and noise came out his nose.

“Ah,” said Laurent. “They cauterised it to prevent infection. That was humane. Or maybe not. They do that with animals in the field.” He wrinkled his nose. “Can you still smell the burning flesh in your dreams? Anyway, I’ll return to my original line of thinking. What do you think would hurt more?” He picked up a dull glass bottle laying sideways on a low table. “When they cut off your cock?” Laurent smashed the bottle. “Or when I shove this inside you?” A flick of the haughty chin towards Damen. “He’ll hold you down. I’ll do the fun part.”

Damen stepped forward. 

The man said something into his gag.

“I’ll take it off,” Laurent said. “If you promise to tell me what I want to know.” He ran a shard of glass along Trude’s weather-beaten cheek and blood flowed after it, like a stream in the woods. Laurent removed the gag. “Who do you work for?”

“No-one.”

“Wrong answer.” Laurent cocked his head to the right. It took Damen a second to realise he was being summoned. It didn’t take him long to unleash a backhand that sent two of Trude’s teeth rattling to the floor. 

“The Empress?” Laurent pressed. “Audin? No, Guion?”

“No,” said Trude, blood seeping from his mouth. Damen did not know those names.

“No? Why was Aimeric of Fortaine speaking your propaganda?” 

“Who?”

“Stop lying!” Laurent was still holding the broken bottle. He held it right to Trude’s neck. Damen moved, ostensibly to get a grip on Trude’s hair to make him look, but it was more than that. He had the sense that this was spiralling and there was something irrational in Laurent’s voice. Damen could make men talk. It was methodical. It had to be, or else it made you something you were not. 

It wasn’t personal. You couldn’t feel anything.

But Laurent, cold and controlled Laurent, was letting his emotions over-rule him here.

“Not lies,” Trude gritted out. 

“Enough,” Damen said. 

“It’s enough when I say it’s enough.” Laurent set aside the broken bottle. 

“Let me,” Damen said. He lifted one of Trude’s fingers, and broke it. “You want to do this nineteen more times?” 

Trude’s eyes widened. “You’re Akielon.”

“How observant,” Laurent drawled. “Do the thumb next, please.”

“You’re Akielon,” Trude said, again, now speaking haltingly in Damen’s language. “I don’t know why you work for him. Maybe the same reason I do what I do.”

“We’re not the same,” Damen said. He was nothing like this savage.

“Help me,” Trude said.

“Help you?” Damen felt himself blink. He repressed the urge to break another finger. No emotions. Not like this. 

“He wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire,” Laurent said. “Or he might, if we set said fire. Tell me who you’re working for.”

“Get me out of here,” Trude said to Damen. “Please. You can do it.”

Damen punched him. That was fine. Punching was humane. And when you were as strong and as angry as Damen, punching led to squelching bones and the satisfying sting in your own knuckles.

“I wouldn’t do anything for you,” he said. “You stir hatred between Vere and Akielos. You get those weak, vulnerable men worked up. You destroyed that village.” Another punch. “You killed those people.”

“His armies gather,” Trude said. “Take me to him. It was…” He stopped to spit out some blood and seemed to smile after. “The best mission of my life, he said, and I would be well rewarded across the border. The women … the slaves….”

“What armies?”

“Who?” Laurent demanded. “Who put you up to this?”

Trude hung his head, like he no longer had strength enough to keep it upright. The fight was gone out him. The light gone from his eyes.

“Who?” Damen demanded, and delivered another blow.

“Damianos of Akielos,” Trude said.


	10. Chapter 10

Over these strange days, Laurent had come to recognise the different faces of Damianos of Akielos. It was strange, really, because Nikandros of Delpha had sworn blind that Damen was one of those guileless people who wore their heart on their sleeves. He had said it while insulting Laurent, which most people didn’t do to his face, so the memory lingered.

Yes, there was only one of Damen. Yes, he wore his emotions openly. But there were different parts to him as there were different aspects to every person. There was the Damen who Nikandros spoke of, who fought by his side and ran innocently around the palace in Ios. There was the Damen of Laurent’s memories — the massive, righteous, bruising man who’d grabbed him in the tent that night and gotten Auguste to bring the war to an end. There was the vulnerable Damen, who’d revealed his brother’s betrayal in a dirty cave just to make Laurent feel better about his own failings. There was the thorned Damen, who Laurent guessed as a new Damen, and he had insulted and picked at Laurent at Marlas.

The focused Damen who ended lives with ease.

Laurent had seen those facets of the Crown Prince of Akielos. He knew how to handle them.

He’d never seen anything like the darkness that fell over Damianos when that Vaskian eunuch dared speak his name.

Rage, or something worse, made this handsome man ugly. It distorted his face and pained his eyes and had him laying into Trude with all the wild, brutal capability of his barbarian reputation. Shocked at the sound of the name too, Laurent let it happen. He saw the punches, the falling of fists, and came back to himself only when Damen pulled back his head as if to use it as a weapon.

“Enough,” he said, laying his hand on Damen’s trembling shoulder.

Damen whirled, eyes black, and there was a terrifying moment where Laurent thought he was going to turn on him too. He should have pulled away, thought of defending himself. He knew very well how to defend himself.

But he stayed. He pressed his hand down on Damen’s shoulder and moved his thumb like a caress.

“I didn’t—” Damen choked out.

“I know,” Laurent said, though he hadn’t given it any thought until the words came out.

“That … all of it done in the name of Damianos,” he said.

“You lie,” Laurent said to the bleeding husk of man tied to the chair. “Who do you really work for?”

Trude had a hard life. You could see it in his face at the time of capture. You knew it now, because he found the strength to get words out after the beating. “No lie,” he said. “You! Guard.” To Damen. Maybe he wasn’t hardy. Maybe he was mentally deficient. “You’re loyal to the crown of your birth. Take me to your real prince. You will be rewarded.”

“Stop. Talking,” Damen said.

Laurent feigned boredom. He put himself between Damen and the prisoner.

“You mean to tell me,” Laurent began. “That you have been stirring hatred and xenophobia for Akielos all throughout my country in the name of Akielos. That doesn’t make very much sense, Trude.”

“Not my plan.” A choked reply. “He said…war would come but they would not be the attackers this time.”

“Who said?”

“Damianos. We met at the border,” Trude said. “He told me I would be rewarded.”

“I see,” Laurent said. “He told you this in person. Are you sure it was him?”

“It’s not easy to impersonate an Akielon prince. He looked like that guard, but more regal. He gave me —” Trude’s eyes flickered to his own chest. Laurent snatched a chain from around his neck and found an old emerald ring. The gold was thick and the stone expensive. It was embossed with lions and inside the band was a name in Akielon — Egeria. “That was a year ago,” the prisoner continued. “He won’t forsake. I’ve done everything he asked.”

Silently, Laurent handed the ring to Damen.

He saw the Damen Nikandros saw when he took in the details. Guileless, nearly childish, and that awful expression that stirred some un-tapped need in Laurent to protect him.

Protect him. This man who’d nearly killed their only evidence. This man who he’d hated for so long.

Damen blinked, like he could blink away the fact of the ring or change it to something else.

Trude, thankfully, was feeling the effects of his mild torture. His head sagged. His eyes closed. He didn’t see the oddness of Damen’s reaction, the way his fist closed around the ring.

“I—” Damen didn’t finish the sentence. He fled the tent.

Laurent was good at suppressing things. He’d considered it a flaw rather than a skill, normally. Auguste said it was unhealthy.

He was glad of it then, when he found the strength to stop himself chasing after Damen.

He was a Prince, here on a mission. He turned to the prisoner.

“You’re shameful,” he said. “A fractured finger and you sing like a songbird. You think your mighty Prince Damianos is going to thank you for that?”

Trude didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer.

Laurent considered how he could make sure he didn’t die. There was rather a lot of blood. He nudged him with his boot and at least the man reacted. He tipped him forward, so the blood streaming from his nose had somewhere to go. When that lessened, Laurent gagged him again.

“Don’t speak to him. Don’t let anyone else in,” he instructed one of the unlucky women who were not allowed by Halvik to take part in the fireside celebrations. “Check that he’s alive at regular intervals.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I know how to watch a prisoner,” she said, adding, belatedly, a not at all respectful _your highness_. Well, Laurent supposed he did not look very much like a prince in these dirty clothes. He didn’t want to think about it but some of the blood had probably splattered on him, too.

“Where’s my guard? The Akielon,” he asked.

“Some of the women took him to wash.”

Wonderful.

-

Laurent accepted directions to the nearby stream but refused the offer of assistance.

“You know their culture,” Halvik called, over-riding the clans-women’s protests. Laurent was quite sure the protests weren’t about the chance to see him unclothed. The people who tended to find him attractive were…not strapping young women who lived in the wilds of Vask. They were people who wanted to conquer and consume.

No, those young women were certainly either worried about mistreating their royal guest or interested in seeing Damianos naked ( _I’ve seen it,_ Laurent wanted to say, _You are indeed missing out_.)

He might have, too, if not for the fact that he was quite concerned about Damianos in this moment. That was strange. It’s not that Laurent didn’t care about other people. He did. His guard. His brother. Himself. All of Vere, in an abstract sense.

But not like this.

“Does the Akielon guard follow the ways of your culture?” Halvik asked Laurent, then. “My girls wish to know.”

“I —”

“Tonight is for celebration, yes? That clan is gone. You have your culprit. Perhaps your guard would celebrate, too? He certainly looks virile  
enough.”

 _No,_ Laurent wanted to say. _In this mood, he’d destroy them._

But that wasn’t quite the truth.

“I’ll ask him,” Laurent said. “After I’ve bathed.”

-  
Damen was alone at the river. He cut a lonely figure, perched on a log, looking down at his hands, wrapped in some kind of pelt the Vaskians must have given him.

Laurent only realised as the jolt of relief went through him that he was glad Damen was alone — that there was every chance he would have taken one of those comely Vaskian girls up on the offer of sex. He’d only had eyes for one of them that morning. There’d been no sign of her by Halvik’s side. She’d probably brought him down here.

“I thought I’d stumble across an orgy,” Laurent called.

Damen shook his head. “They think I don’t understand any Vaskian. What interesting plans they’d made. You should have seen the first garment  
they offered me.” With a nod to the rustic cloak around his body. “There’s more fabric in the pocket of this pelt.”

“Interesting indeed.”

“They washed the blood away,” Damen continued. “They said they’d never seen a guard so easily accept being served. I think that might have given them ideas.”

“You wish to—”

“Not … now. Before maybe, I was better at blocking things out.” He turned, brown eyes fierce, and Laurent realised he had come to stand very close to him. “I have no idea what Trude was talking about.”

“You have some idea,” Laurent said, not unkindly. Damen had been looking at the ring, which was now lodged halfway down his baby finger. “There is another prince in Akielos.”

“Kastor was on border duty about a year ago. I —” He took a long breath. “I gave this to Jokaste during our courtship. My father wasn’t pleased, though he had given almost all of my mother’s jewelery to me. I gave Jokaste lots of gifts.”

“It never made sense that she would choose the bastard over you,” Laurent said and Damen winced. “Well, it’s true and you know it. That stuff about you not committing wasn’t enough. Women are more patient, generally, than us. You are still young.”

“Nikandros warned me about Kastor. He said I was blind, because of the family ties. He said Kastor is jealous and power-hungry. He complains about never getting his rightful chance and —”

Laurent looked at the ring. “Someone offered him one?”

“I — I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.” Damen’s eyes left Laurent’s and flickered over his face. “There’s bloodspray all over you.” He said it like an apology.

“I know. I thought the Vaskians might respect that,” Laurent said.

“They respected the spear. I didn’t know you could throw like that.”

“I used to love hunting,” Laurent said. “I’m good at it.”

Half of Damen’s mouth curled upwards. “I’d like to see that.”

Laurent thought about saying you could but he caught himself.

Damianos of Akielos’s charisma was legendary. Even Auguste was under his spell. He ruled men by breathing. Women fell at his feet. He fucked people and left them behind with a cheery wave. The slaves had said that, like it was a good thing.

Below all that, there was another voice and it said _no-one else would want_ …but Laurent pushed it away.

He pushed it all away.

Damen refused the comfort of the clanswomen. Laurent knew Damen took comfort in sex and all its trappings.

“I came here to bathe,” Laurent said.

“Oh. Of course. I’ll leave you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Laurent said. “What kind of guard leaves the a prince unattended and naked in a foreign country.”

Laurent was no shrinking maiden. But he was Veretian, and unaccustomed with being naked in front of anyone but himself. It was different for Akielons. So he appreciated it even more when Damen made a point of turning his back until Laurent had waded into the water. The only thing that remained was the bandage on his shoulder.

Damen had put that there.

“It’s freezing!” Laurent said, or maybe yelped.

“It’s bracing, your highness.” Then, “The gulf is like a bath in the summer time.”

“You know what else is like a bath? An actual bath. In Arles, we have hot springs that bring water directly from the ground.”

“Fascinating.” Damen’s voice was so distant, Laurent had to check he hadn’t moved from the log. The light was fading into violet and Laurent had the stupid thought that they might see the stars more clearly from this high up. “My brother betrayed me,” Damen continued. “Twice. It doesn’t matter what — he’s my brother. He’s family.”

“Family are just as capable of hurt as any other person,” Laurent said, and his voice was the distant thing now.

“I have to go back to Ios. How am I going to tell my father Kastor tried to start a war in my name? How do we go on as brothers from this?” He was asking himself, really. “Was that his aim? Maybe he just wanted to destroy my name. Maybe — did Jokaste really have such influence?”

“He wants power,” Laurent said. “For him. For the woman. I don’t know. He still did it. He —”

“I know that,” Damen snapped.

“You’d have fought another war,” Laurent said. “There couldn’t have been a second truce.” Laurent would have fought, too, but this wasn’t about him. “You might have been killed.”

It happened like that, in war. Kings died. Brothers waited to swoop up the still warm crown.

He heard the crack of a twig. Turned and saw Damen push up off the log.

“I wouldn’t have died,” Damen said, disgusted. “I never lose. I’ve never lost.”

“Neither did my father,” Laurent replied. “Until —”

“You don’t know anything,” Damen said and left.

Laurent absorbed that.

Maybe it was true.

At any rate, he wasn’t going to get any cleaner in this nothing stream. What was the point in lingering in the cold?  
-

Halvik had given him clean clothing. Laurent dressed in the fine linen and soft furs that were fit for a prince. He thought he’d feel more like himself again in proper clothing but that was not the case. He felt unmoored in this wild place, like he’d rarely felt before. He wondered just what it meant to feel like himself.

The scared boy. The strange adolescent. The newly minted man who hid away.

He didn’t want to go back to any of that.

Everyone forgot that he’d been to war before. In Arles, indeed all through Vere, they thought him weak and lazy. Sometimes, Laurent went along with the impression of idleness. He liked disguises. He thought it was better than showing the vulnerable flesh beneath. It was new to think that flesh could be strong, the muscles could work outside a training ring, the instincts could react, the hands could kill.

It was foolish, really, but Laurent attributed it all to Damianos of Akielos. He made people stronger. He made Laurent trust.

It was foolish because Damianos of Akielos ruined his life, once, and scared him senseless and Laurent was meant to hate him.  
Instead he was seeking him out, again, in the dusky campsite where drums beat and scratched low around a roaring fire. Sparks flew into the air, little shoots of blazing red, against the darkening sky. Like cursed stars, Laurent thought, as his feet sank into the moist earth.

The tent was the same as when Damen had insisted he bind Laurent’s shoulder. But it was different, with the lamps lit and food laid out on a low woven table made of reeds.

Damen was not in the tent.

Laurent berated himself for assuming he would go where Laurent planned on going. There were other options. He could be killing Trude. He could be fucking anyone (or more than one) of those Vaskian women. Someone was getting fucked by the fire. Laurent had seen the shadows, heard the sighs, when he was steadfastly not looking at the people.

He saw a different shadow then, through the canvas at the back of the tent, and it was large enough to only be one person. The food had not been touched so Laurent took enough for two and went outside to Damen where he was facing the treeline.

“Eat something.” The words came out clipped but that was nothing new.

“I’m not hungry.”

Laurent cursed under his breath. “What would you say if one of your soldiers refused to eat?”

Damen took the plate. “I’ve not got many soldiers left, you know. Just my guard left at Marlas and a unit in Sicyon. A lot of my men retired. The rest are based in Ios.”

“You’ve got the entire Akielon army at your back should you need it.”

“Do I?” Damen chewed slowly, like he was forcing himself to eat.

“And all of Nikandros’s troops marching behind you.” Laurent had never thought he would be consoling Damianos of Akielos about the size of his army. He’d fantasised, before, about somehow making disbanding the armies a condition of trade with Akielos. The details were always foggy. But he knew enough of Damen’s reputation to know what would hurt him.

The bastard brother would know even better.

“Your father wouldn’t stand for it,” Laurent said. “Any of it.”

“You speak like you know him.”

“I think he would never tolerate anything that would undermine his authority. Or yours,” Laurent said.

“He can’t live forever,” Damen said. “And I think he wants to live for some time once he’s stopped ruling.”

“Abdication?” Lauren couldn’t keep the shock from his voice. Theomedes was a not elderly and he was not unwell. There was no reason for him to step aside, yet. In Vere, that would never happen. Lose a parent, gain a throne. That’s how it worked.

Beside him, Damen stiffened as if he had revealed too much. That made sense, in a sad way. Any internal royal struggles would weaken Akielos.

“You shouldn’t have told me that,” Laurent said.

Damen stretched his arms high above his head, arched his back, and Laurent focused on his own food. He tasted smoke. He did not look.

“You need not follow me around,” Damen said. “I’m not going let my temper get the better of me.”

“I —”

“Shouldn’t you be enjoying the plush prince’s tent?” He continued, and there was a familiar note of disdain in his voice. “You don’t care for the outdoors, I know.”

“You know that,” Laurent said, and his voice was cooler now too.

“Yes.”

“You think I am a pampered palace brat who’s never fended for himself before.” And that was not entirely untrue. Laurent didn’t care, normally, but he found he disliked when Damen disliked him. As if he had the right to that.

“I didn’t —”

“Can’t even light a fire. Doesn’t know what to do in an ambush. Doesn’t know anything at all. I understand perfectly,” Laurent said. “Have I missed anything?”

“Never spent a night under the open skies before this,” Damen said.

“Ah,” said Laurent, with a feeling like his skin was being unstitched. His mind, all his old habits, were screaming at him to stop. This is not what Laurent did. These were not words that came out of his mouth. “That much at least is not true. I have slept outside before. Or, rather, tried to sleep.”

Slowly, as if recognizing something in Laurent’s tone, Damen turned his head. His expression was gentle, his eyes were probing. Laurent could have stopped, then. He wanted to stop. His heart raced and sweat pricked his just washed skin. The urge to flee was strong. The prospect of shame was stronger.

Except…Damen looked down with such kindness. And Laurent thought about how he had never met anyone stronger than this man. Except perhaps Auguste, who was so similar in many ways.

How having found out his brother betrayed him, Damen’s instinct was not to destroy but to understand. He asked how could they got on, instead of how could he end it.

“I was fourteen,” Laurent continued. He could still go back from this. “I got lost in the woods near Chastillon. That’s —”

“I’ve seen it on a map,” Damen said. “Laurent, you don’t owe—”

“It’s common knowledge, I think. That I was lost.” That he still felt lost sometimes. That he still waited for Auguste to rescue him. “I’ve never … I was lost, that is true. But I left on purpose.”

Damen took the plate from Laurent’s hands. He wanted to snatch it back. It was better to hold on tight to something when you thought your hands were going to shake.

“It’s cold,” Damen said. “We should go inside.”

The tent was warmer. Laurent was already roasting but he couldn’t bring himself to shed the furs from around his shoulders. There was water, which he drank. There was wine, which Damen sniffed and set aside.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out to the coupling fire?” Laurent said.

Damen let out a little laugh. “What a terrible name.” Then, “Do you want me to?”

“It’s not for me to decide who you fuck.”

“Do you want to be alone?”

“I was telling you,” Laurent said, lowering himself onto the bedroll. “That I have slept outside before. It was less than a year after Marlas, though at the time it felt longer. I was fourteen but I thought I was older. Did you meet my uncle during the peace process?” There. He’d started it.

“I saw him in the aftermath,” Damen said. “Beside Auguste. But you know my father did the talking. I think he was trying to punish me.”

“Was he alone?”

“There were lots of Veretians.” There weren’t any chairs in the tent, just scattered stuffed cushions here and there. Damen pulled the second bedroll away from Laurent’s, so that it lay perpendicular at his feet. “That’s what a guard would do,” he said.

Laurent pulled one knee up in front of his chest as Damen gingerly sat on the furs.

“Did you hear of him in the months after?” Laurent asked. It was easier like this, to put the pressure back on Damen. “He was very busy.”

Damen furrowed his brows. “He worked with the border lords? I think Nikandros mentioned negotiations, then.”

“Anything else?”

“No. I don’t think — Laurent, I’m not following.”

“After everything that happened at Marlas,” Laurent said. “I was angry. I was…young. If you’d seen me then.”

“I did see you then.”

“What did you think? Or did I register? It doesn’t matter. Think of the greenest boy you ever tumbled and —”

“I don’t sleep with boys.”

Laurent needed to hear him say it. “I was angry and easily led.”

“Like these border people.”

“A dangerous combination,” Laurent said. “For them. Not for us. My father was dead. My mother, too. Though they didn’t bother with me much anyway. Auguste ascended and he was so busy. I was jealous of every one he spent time with that wasn’t me. I was resentful over your stunt in the tent. I didn’t understand why he didn’t just fight you. I knew he would have won.” Laurent ignored the look of protest on Damen’s face. This wasn’t about that. “I felt…I was angry.”

“Abandoned.”

“Anyway, my uncle stepped in. He took me on his tours to placate the nobility, though I couldn’t see then, or I didn’t want to see what they really were.”

Damen was sharp, when it came to matters that weren’t personal to him. Laurent forgot that, sometimes, because of the years believing him to be a dumb brute.“Those lords you mentioned when you were interrogating the Vaskian,” he said. “They didn’t support Auguste’s surrender.”

He was diplomatic, too. When he wanted to be. They didn’t support Auguste’s rule. Their uncle had made sure of it. He had whispered, cajoled and bribed. He found their weaknesses and exploited them with words and plots and contingency planned.

He had trotted Laurent out, with his blue eyes and baby face and most childlike clothing, and said “Nephew, tell them how the barbarian prince threatened you,” and instead of sympathising with Auguste the nobles cursed his weakness for letting Damianos away with that.

“Yes,” said Laurent. “They didn’t care for what happened at Marlas or his new plans for Vere. The court was changing. The climate was changing. And I —”

“It’s all right.”

“I told them what my uncle wanted them to hear.”

“Oh,” said Damen.

“Oh?”

“I see, now, I think why you are so eager to save your brother more political headaches.”

“War is a headache now?”

“You were a child. You don’t need to feel guilty.”

“My uncle was a prince, like us. Second born, like us,” Laurent continued. “Spent a lot of time second in line to throne, unlike you.”

“You are second in line now.” Damen’s voice was distant. Laurent couldn’t place the intent.

“Only until the child is born,” Laurent said. But none of this was what he wanted to say. It was proving difficult to get to the point. “My uncle was powerful. It’s hard to imagine now. But at the time…his tastes were an open secret. Did that tidbit reach Akielon intelligence or were you just being polite before?”

“Tastes…” The furrowed brow.

“You know of the custom for pets,” Laurent said. Damen nodded, once. “My uncles pets were always the youngest at court. When my mother lived, they weren’t even allowed at court. He’d ferret them away somewhere else. Or maybe he stayed away. You have to understand no-one  
questions a prince.” He felt stupid for saying it then. No-one understood that better than Damen.

“How young?”

“Too young,” Laurent said. “Too young to shave. Too young to sing tenor. Too young to come, a lot of the time.”

Damen looked faintly sick.

“You have to understand,” Laurent continued. “I was his nephew. No-one would think…fetish is one thing. Incest is another. Auguste never would have just let me off if anyone thought…”

“Laurent,” Damen said.

“I ran away from Chastillon in the middle of night,” he blurted out. “It was…I don’t know. So much is a blur. “ The words were streaming out of his mouth but it was like someone else was saying them. He was in this small, soft Vaskian tent with Damianos of Akielos and he was aware of the warm fur and the warm light and the drumbeat of his heart and the clanspeople outside. He saw how still Damen was holding himself.  
But it was like he was there at all.

“People were saying things about me so I couldn’t speak up. I was so…” Ashamed. “Stupid, then. And I had … he had made me feel like he was whole world. At first it seemed …not normal but a comfort, maybe. I missed my brother. The brother I missed didn’t exist anymore and it was only…it wasn’t fucking and —”

“Laurent.” Damen’s voice was hard. He had half-risen from the bedroll, then stopped, like he wasn’t sure how to proceed.

“I ran away. I panicked and it was so dark in the woods. I was …hurting and I was thinking how ashamed Auguste would be. It was hard to see. My horse threw me. Ridiculous, really. I’ve always been a good rider.” It was odd that his lips formed a smile but it happened all the same. “I went east when I should have gone south but I didn’t know that then. I had to stop. Spent the night under a tree with only the owls for company.”

“Laurent.” Damen’s knuckles were white.

Now that Laurent had begun talking, he couldn’t stop. “The pristine young prince, all laced up and rosy cheeked, rolled in shit when the horse threw him. I suppose that’s how I escaped the dogs, when my uncle came looking. I could hear them.” Too close, too vicious. He thought they might him alive. “I couldn’t move, though. I curled under the tree until the sun rose and then I started walking. But I went in the wrong direction. Did I say that already?”

“Yes.”

“I washed, a little, and ate the sweetmeats and fruit I had in my saddlebag. I wasn’t thinking straight. I could have found the road. I could have ordered almost anyone to take me in or take me home,” he said. “I was…I just wandered. It got dark again and without the adrenaline I was very cold and very scared. It was cloudy and I couldn’t see the stars. When I heard the voices through the trees, I thought I was dreaming. I hoped…but I didn’t know for sure until I saw him in front of me. Auguste. He was always my protector.” A shake of his head. “It was like the sun had risen and I thought, how did he get here so fast. But he was coming for me anyway with news from the palace.”

“Did you —”

“No. No. Not with the other things people were saying. I couldn’t. I never did.”

“Ever?”

“Until now.”

Damen turned his head towards the roof of the tent. Laurent thought it might be better that he couldn’t see Damen’s face right now.

His own uncle. His cowardly self. His childish anger.

Damen would never want him now.

Maybe that was part of the story telling. It started as, well, Laurent wasn’t quite sure what motivated him other than the desire to put him and Damen on some kind of equal footing? _You think it was bad that your brother stole your woman and schemes against you politically? Wait until you hear about my uncle._

“Where is he?” Damen said, in that princely commanding tone of voice.

“What?”

“Where is your uncle now?” Damen demanded. His eyes were still turned upward. His hand was near his hip, where his sword would normally be. “I don’t care what you say. Or your brother. I don’t care about treaties and peace. I’m going to kill him, Laurent. I’m going to enjoy it.”

“Oh.” Laurent felt his change, his cheeks lift. He came back to himself, away from the feeling he couldn’t control his own mouth and that his blood was rushing too fast. Some part of him registered the weakness of letting it mean so much. “Oh. No, you would — No. He’s dead. There was ... an accident near Chastillon not long after. The boys of the kingdom were safe from then on.”

“Laurent.”

“I’m allowed make to make jokes.”

Damen took some of the wine he had earlier disregarded. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“You didn’t know. I didn’t really mind the teasing.”

“No. I’m sorry that you were hurt like that,” he said. “I’m sorry I shook your brother’s hand if that’s what it lead to.”

“It was a night and a half under the stars, Damen, before my brother found me. It could have been worse.” He watched the cautious way Damen held himself; the slow way he made his way back to the bedroll.

“Why did you tell me?”

“Auguste says its better to speak about the matters which bother us than cork them up in a bottle,” Laurent said. “As well as that, I’m privy to your biggest secret right now, the matter of your brother, and fairness is —”

“Why did you tell me?”

“Oh,” said Laurent. There was no easy way for him to answer that. Not unless he wanted to conduct some self-examination that he really wasn’t ready for. “I’m planning on having you killed. It makes sense to tell your secrets to someone on the verge of death.”

“That must be why the wine tastes so vile.”

“Did you mean it?” Laurent said, sounding needy in ways that he hated. “That you wanted to kill him or was that just how you thought someone like you should react?”

“I meant it. I mean it. I wish I could still do it.”

“How?” With a breath in his voice.

Damen considered this, with his gaze turned back on Laurent for this first time since he’d initiated the conversation.

“Slowly,” he said.

Laurent felt a flutter in his chest. “Go on,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, guys, and for all your comments on the previous chapter. i'm sorry i didn't get to respond to them all :( next chapter should be up friday. there about six more in total.


	11. Chapter 11

The furs had been treated but they still smelled of living. Damen breathed it, imagining blood and flesh and then the clean, functional aftermath when he woke. Without opening his eyes, he could tell that morning had come. There was birdsong outside and his body told him the time for sleep was over. 

He did not open his eyes, yet, because he didn’t want there to be a new day. He wanted the small tent and secrets shared with Laurent of Vere more than he wanted reality. Outside was the Vaskian tent, the knowledge that Kastor had betrayed him again and the inevitable journey back to Ios. He’d have to bring this evidence to his father. He’d have to confront his brother. The thought caused an ache behind his eyes, which made him force them open.

Dawn was streaming golden through the fabric of the tent. Damen allowed himself a moment, just one, to watch the hazy way it bounced off Laurent’s hair . Sleep softened his features away from severity. The white bedclothes the Vaskians had given him were gentler than the dark clothes he favoured. 

Damen saw Laurent was he was now, just past the cusp of manhood, learning how not to hate the world when it wasn’t smart enough or fast enough. He saw him as he was that first night in that other tent, innocent and righteous with a voice high as bells. A new ache hammered behind Damen’s eyes at the thought of Laurent being…what his uncle did. A lonely child, afraid to voice his suffering.

Damen had often been the recipient of private information. People trusted him. He liked to protect people.

But this was different.

Laurent stirred on his furs and Damen averted his eyes. It nearly felt wrong to admire him, knowing now what he knew, but perhaps it would be worse if he did not admire him now as he did before. That elegant face. The sharp mouth and the newly revealed lean body. Of course Damen admired him.

He’d done it in abstract way, as one notices and disregards someone who is out of reach, since first meeting. He’d felt it grow, journeying and fighting, until they’d caught the agitator Trude. 

The morning light made it something else. It was like going from feeling the sun on your skin to seeing the way the sun had darkened it. Something … not permanent -- Laurent would go back to Vere and Damen to Ios. But certainly something that left a mark.

“I hope Halvik never finds out your true identity,” Laurent mumbled, huskily, where most people might say good morning. “It would be lethal for your reputation if word got out there was an entire clan of women wanting to get fucked and Damianos of Akielos did not oblige.”

Or left a burn.

Damen rolled to his side, propping his head up with one elbow. “I’m more of a morning person,” he said. “I could go out there now. If you want privacy for...”

A guess, educated, as he was a man and had often woke in the company of men. Laurent was younger than him, too.

Also, well, an effort to fall in with the teasing rhythm of Laurent’s conversation. A sign that he would not speak differently now that he knew what he knew.

A chance to see Laurent’s pale cheeks flush.

“If you want another man’s seconds, go right ahead,” Laurent said, gesturing to the opening in the tent. 

Damen’s chest was heavy. A long second passed before he had anything to say. Laurent would not thank him for reassurances or anything that could be interpreted as an advance.

“You go first,” Damen said. “I’m quite comfortable here.”

“I’d have to climb over you.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Damen finally caught Laurent’s eye and then they were both suppressing smiles. It was wrong, somehow, to engage in light conversation with all that had happened. Or maybe it was the exact right thing. He let the moment pass and got up first. Mornings were mundane whether you were in a palace or a rustic camp. Damen stretched, exercised, ate, dressed without paying Laurent much attention.

Whether Laurent was paying attention to him, he could not say.

Together, they checked in on the prisoner and found him still in the same condition. Whether Damen was glad to see the man was still alive, he could not say either.

With Halvik the clan leader they discussed logistics for getting back to Vere.

“Akielos,” Damen interrupted, forgetting his supposed station here. 

“He is outspoken,” Halvik said to Laurent with disapproval. “For a guard to a prince.”

“But he’s very good at scaring people,” Laurent replied. “And he is right. I’ve been working with Akielos these past weeks on behalf of the King. We take this prisoner into Delfeur to Marlas.” 

Damen cleared his throat. 

“He’s pretending to be obedient now,” Halvik said.

“The kyros will no longer be in Marlas,” Damen said. Nikandros was on the march east. His armies would be gathering. Veretian armies would be gathering on their side. The threat of war still hung heavy and who knew what had happened in Damen’s absence. There could be more dead boys, more destroyed villages.

“Of course,” said Laurent. “Your guard won’t have too far to escort us, Halvik.”

“I —” Damen began, then stopped. He did not need a Vaskian guard. He wanted more time while it could be just him and Laurent together. But that was not something he could voice here, or ever. “I’ll prepare the prisoner.”

“No rush,” Halvik said. “My girls aren’t quite ready to mount a horse yet. Are you, your highness?” Brightly, to Laurent. As if it was a normal thing to ask. “You couple with your guard in the Veretian style, yes? You don’t like sharing. It is a choice that makes sense. Most nobility have guards and pets but —”

“I am ready,” Laurent said, without any kind of inflection. 

“I see.” With a sidelong look towards Damen. “I will send you with some hakesh for future. See if you can’t improve his performance.”

“How kind,” said Laurent.  
-

Damen did not dwell on the well-being of the riders assigned to accompany them back to Akielos. They had proved themselves to be competent riders and fighters already and their demeanor was easy and straightforward, which he appreciated. Laurent had accepted the escort and the supplies, including the infamous hakesh, with grace. One tent was enough, he had said, effectively ending any idea the girls may have had in engaging Damen in any kind of bedplay.

Damen didn’t dwell on the authority behind the words, either.

Or the prisoner, gagged and lashed to one of Halvik’s horses.

There’d be time for him at least when he’d formed a better plan than get back to his army.

“You know I’ll be paying this back for the foreseeable future,” Laurent said in Akielon, with a nod to the riders and supplies.

“Feel free to bill the crown,” Damen said. "If it's still mine."

“I want— never mind.” 

“What?”

“He’s nothing compared to you,” Laurent said, quietly. “It’s a headache not a threat.”

“You don’t know him,” Damen said. His mind was elsewhere - on the possibility of being overheard and way down in Ios. His father would not think Kastor was nothing. All his life, Damen had sought to make his father proud. The truce with Auguste had been a bump in the road, one Nikandros insisted Damen had made into a mountain. Theomedes had been willing to parley. Surrender was just as valid a victory. 

He thought of what it meant for someone to take pride in you. Not as a prince but as a person. 

He looked at Laurent and stopped thinking about his father.

“I know … royal families,” said Laurent. 

-  
They rode without incident and stopped for the night because it would have been unsafe to continue. Damen got some enjoyment from watching the efficient way the Vaskian women made camp. He volunteered to fetch water before someone took it upon themselves to order him to do so. It was easier to pretend when you made your own decisions. As Laurent’s supposed guard, the only person lower than him in the pecking order here was the prisoner.

Damen did not want to think about the prisoner because that meant thinking about what his brother had done. It was wrong. All wrong. Lies and betrayal. And equally distressing was the thought of his name being used as a call to arms without his knowledge. Trude had been quick to confess to Damen; who knew how many other people had been told the agitator was working on behalf of Damianos of Akielos. His name was already dirt in Vere.

He should not care.

But he did.

“I’ll do first shift perimeter patrols,” Damen told the most senior Vaskian woman. 

“No,” she replied.

“Excuse me?” 

“We have system. You mess it up. We follow Halvik’s order. Not Akielon guard.”

“My guard should stay with me,” Laurent offered, from the spot closest to the fire. “I don’t want to have to punish you again.”

“Right.” Damen resigned himself for that particular treat. It wouldn’t be too bad. The Vaskians wished to sleep early and leave at first light. “I’ll guard the tent, then.”

If his father ever heard about this, he might take back Damen’s lion pin.

“No need. We have good system.” The Vaskian woman drained her drink and clapped Damen on the back. “Rest. Veretian prince wants other services, yes?”

“No,” said Laurent, when they were alone again. 

“I’m wounded,” Damen said. “Truly, you disappoint me.”

“Shut up and get in the tent.” Smiling, slightly. Stopping smiling when he saw just how tiny this tent was. 

“More portable,” Damen said. He refrained from saying a soldier would know that. “If you dare risk the wrath of the Vaskian guards I am sure I can fashion something larger.”

No response.

“You go first,” he said, then. 

“All right,” Laurent replied. “Any intruders will simply trip over you before they could get to me.”

“Or slice right through the fabric.” It was small, but functional. Space for two to lie close together, lovers or close friends or anyone who wasn’t Laurent of Vere. “I’ll risk it and put my bedroll outside,” Damen offered again. They still had their scant supplies taken from Marlas.

Right down to the maps of the stars above them.

Laurent considered this. Damen saw him swallow twice before looking up to the sky. His jaw was tense. His eyes showed nothing.

“It’s cold out here.” Then he simply slipped into the tent.

Damen could reason it out if he tried. Laurent had any number of reasons to allow this. He had learnt by now that Damen was no threat. He could be hell bent on proving nothing had changed since revealing the horrid truth of what his uncle had done. Certainly, Damen was happy with that. Nothing had changed, except that he would try to be kinder. But maybe the kindest thing to do was not change his ways. 

Maybe Laurent thought he owed Damen this. 

Maybe he trusted him.

Damen could not dwell on that either. They would part ways soon. This would fade into memory like so many other experiences. Damen had never been sentimental before.

He had to crawl to enter the tent behind Laurent, elbows tight to avoid dislodging any of the supporting poles. There were two piles of various materials that would make a place to sleep. Damen saw that Laurent had taken the smaller one. There was an unlit lamp and nothing else.

“Should I light it?”

“The fabric is rather sheer,” Laurent set. “If it’s dark, we can retain some mystery.”

“Whatever you say, Your Highness.” Damen pulled off his boots and his scabbard. He did not offer Laurent the finer furs. He would not baby him. 

“Don’t do that,” Laurent said. “There’s no-one to overhear.”

“Whatever you say, Your Highness.” 

Laurent let out an exasperated sound that may have concealed a laugh. “The next time you lie down to sleep it will be with all the trappings of your station,” he said. “Don’t expect me to have sympathy for you now.”

“I don’t expect that,” he said.

“A grant tent with your flag snapping in the wind. Soldiers tripping over themselves to serve you.”

“My soldiers would never trip.”

“Men slapping you on the back, laughing at your stupid jokes.”

“My jokes aren’t stupid.” Damen turned on his side. It made sense because the tent was so small.

“Women falling at your feet. Slaves shivering at the chance to share your bed,” Laurent continued. It was the first time he had mentioned slaves without disgust. Strangely, Damen felt it any way. He thought of how it would look to an outsider like Laurent — stranger than the Vaskian and Veretian customs looked to him. It wasn’t the same, of course, even he could admit that. Freedom was not like anything else in this world. 

“I told you already,” Damen said. “There’s only Lykaios. It’s…different for me now.”

“And the boy.”

“I told you that already, too. I would not take a boy to my bed.” Forcibly, he kept the edge from his voice. He did not want to argue with Laurent tonight. He did not want to talk about something that would make him uncomfortable, even as it seemed profoundly important to make it clear. “Erasmus is still in training silks,” Damen continued. “He’s old for it, apparently, but he left the gardens before his training was complete.”

“I don’t need —”

“It was a slave,” Damen blurted the words. “Kallias. He was trained for Kastor. He knew of the affair and I knew there was something amiss when I found him wandering the hallways. I ordered him to speak. I wasn’t nice about it. When I…came back to myself later I felt guilty. All my life, I knew to treat the slaves with perfect respect. Nothing else was an option. But anger and jealousy clouded my judgment that night. I made him afraid.” He sighed into the darkness, glad that of the shadows and that he could not see the disapproval on Laurent’s face. “Later, I sought him out to make amends.”

“In Vere, it is customary to rewards pets for good service.”

“I asked him what I could do for him now. I thought to take him into my household,” Damen said. “Not as a bed slave.” Kallias was not his type. He had seen his lovely performances, his flawless form at court and it had not done anything for him. “I’ve often…it makes sense to look out for people even if they are not part of your life in that way.”

“As prince,” Laurent pressed. “Or how a man keeps a mistress?”

“Neither. Both.” Damen let out another sigh. “If I’ve had a lover and we’re no longer going to be —” The next word made him flush. “Intimate, I’ll still look after them.”

“How big of you.” 

Damen reminded himself that Laurent tried to use words to keep people away. 

“Kallias did not ask for that of me,” he continued. “He told me about his friend Erasmus. They’d grown up together. They were the the toast of the gardens. Erasmus was being trained for me but Kallias requested I take him earlier.”

“Why?”

“He wanted to see the world.” Damen heard the wistful tone of his own voice. “Apparently,” he added, to temper it. “I could show him Patras and Delpha. Not much but…”

“You haven’t shown him your famous reputation in the bedroom?” 

“Laurent, it sounds like you’ve been asking about me.”

“It’s clever to know about your enemy before you meet them.”

“What else did you learn?”

“That doesn’t matter now,” Laurent said. “You’re not exactly my enemy anymore.”

“High praise,” Damen said. He could hear Laurent settling into the furs. He saw him turn on his side, too, though it was too dark to make anything else out. “Have you…ever?”

“Yes?”

Damen reminded himself Laurent was Veretian. Veretians were blunt. He would have to spell it out. 

“Have you ever had a lover?” He regretted it as soon the word came out. His skin was hot, and he was nearly deluded enough to think he could feel a rush of warmth from Laurent’s skin. Even in the darkness, he felt Laurent tense. He heard the sharp intake of breath. His mind catapulted to dangerous territories — where the tradition of First Night blurred with the Prince of Vere’s tightly-laced demeanor.

“I…you ask this after I spoke so candidly last night?” Laurent said. “You toy -”

“Have you really had a lover?” Damen pushed through. 

“Not for a lack of offers,” Laurent replied, and Damen smiled because Laurent was an ordinary young man in many ways. Including the defense of desirability. “Men, pets, boys my age…don’t get me started on the marriage offers Auguste gets on my behalf. They made a game of it at court. I only like games where I am as equally instrumental as my opponent.”

“It’s my belief that bed play and opponents don’t really go together.”

“Didn’t you spend hours fucking wrestler who lasted a fifteen minutes in the ring with you?”

“It was ten minutes minutes. Your research is inaccurate.” Damen let the mirth show in his voice. “It was…a team effort behind closed doors.”

“Did you see him again?”

“No. He lives in Isthima. Stop distracting me from what I am trying to say.”

“Spit it out, then.”

“Laurent…” His throat was dry. “You were right to rebuff all those worthless suitors. You deserve someone who will cherish you and worship your body with his. Someone who sees you as a person as well as a prince.”

“You’re sure that’s what I want?” 

“No,” Damen admitted. “I only know how I think things should. Perhaps you want something different. Find a soldier somewhere and get your hands and knees dirty. Take a pet you’d feel safe with. Have a tryst in a shadowy corner somewhere with the merriment of a ball drifting in on the wind. Wait for a wife. Just…”

“Yes?”

“Do it on your terms,” Damen said, and he had gotten far from his original point. That happened around Laurent - he meant to pick a little hole and found himself unstitched instead. 

“I want to tell you not to patronise me,” Laurent said.

“But..”

“Goodnight, Damen.”

“Goodnight.”  
There was the shifting of sheets, the brush of furs and Damen briefly imagined feeling them against bare skin. It was not his place to desire Laurent. It was a role for someone who had never scared him. It was in someone else’s future. Damen would not have these strange countryside adventures again. He’d have Ios and the pain of confronting his brother and the thought sent a shuddering breath rushing out from his lungs.

“What would you —” Laurent’s voice was small. “I mean, what is it like?”

“Having a —”

“No,” Laurent said. “What’s it like going through life so at ease with oneself? How can you be so…cheery about such personal things?”

“Personal things,” Damen said, with emphasis on the second word. “Can be cheerful. Should be cheerful. Life is to be enjoyed.” And that sounded like a platitude even to him. “I know I’ve been lucky. There’s probably no-one in Akielos who’s had a better life. According to my father, that’s why I get so whiny over things I should not.”

“Spoiled, you mean.”

“I am not spoiled,” Damen protested. “I’ve been commanding troops since I was seventeen. You don’t do that without hard work. We all have different strengths.”

“Are you saying yours is casual fucking?” Laurent pressed. “It’s easy for you to have sex with someone knowing you’re never going to see them again.”

“Sometimes.” Damen ignored the first statement. “As it’s easy for you to reduce men twice your age to tears in trade negotiations. I could not do that.” 

“They wouldn’t argue with you in the first place. What if I don’t want to be cheerful and casual?”

“Then be dour and serious,” Damen said. “You’re the Prince of Vere. Do what you please.”

“What would you recommend?” He sounded entirely serious. It was never easy to tell when Laurent was joking. Sometimes Damen thought Laurent was making private jokes for his own amusement.

“I mentioned some options earlier.” Damen felt his teeth graze his bottom lip. He hadn’t meant to do that.

“A tryst at a banquet? Where would one find the privacy?”

“A shadowed balcony, perhaps. A corridor kept clear by the Prince’s Guard.” His voice was low, warm. “I hear the decorators in Vere are fond of velvet drapes, perfect for hiding behind.” The heady night they’d first taken Marlas, the Akielons had torn such curtains down. 

“In Akielos?”

“We have curtains made of gauze, mostly,” Damen said. “The bed — some of the people were clothing in very similar fabric. The palace has marble balconies facing out to the ocean. The views are lovely.”

“I rather think views would be a secondary concern in certain situations,” Laurent replied. “It’s probably not that different in practice — taking a slave or a pet or a whore. You’d have — control.”

“Yes.”

“You could …” He trailed off.

“Yes?”

“I heard men talk about you,” Laurent changed the subject. “Soldiers, mostly.”

“Soldiers mostly talk shit. Trust me, I am one.”

“They say you can have any one you want and you rarely choose a man. But if you do, they bend like a slave. Open like a flower.”

“I doubt they use those terms.” Damen was flushing.

“Even if they don’t usually fuck like that,” Laurent continued. “They want it with you. All that power and magentisim and strength.”

“Laurent.” Damen’s mind was having trouble processing the words. The tone. All of it.

“That’s what they say, anyway. So, what about a woman? Is it different?”

“Everyone is different, Laurent. But, yes, in my experience.”

“Your infinite experience.”

“My first time, I hadn’t a clue what I was doing,” Damen said. “I was…clumsily enthusiastic.” Sex was a private act in Akielos, unlike Vere. No-one told him what to do and he had never seen it. “Naturally,” he stressed. “I have learned since then.” Little more than a boy, it was all about the rush to the finish line. Now, as a man, he loved nothing more than drawing it out. 

He wasn’t quite sure how to communicate that to Laurent. This wasn’t supposed to be about him.

Whatever this was.

“If I waited for a wife, she’d have that to look forward too. Poor thing,” Laurent said. Right. That was Damen’s suggestion. Maybe Laurent would find a patient, kind wife. “Not that I intend to marry. The Vere line is secure. I told my brother years ago he could get the heirs and that is happening.”

“You could talk to your brother about this,” Damen said.

“No.” Laurent sounded resolute. “I could not. Anyway, I’ve spent enough time around men to know wives and women aren’t always the same thing. Certainly not for Akielons, anyway. So, is it different?”

“It’s wetter,” Damen said, just to get a reaction out of Laurent. He could not see his face but he heard the way his breathing changed again. “Women are softer. Weaker. But they’re a challenge. You’ll never know a woman’s body like you know your own.”

“The bigger the challenge the greater the reward?”

“Not always.”

There was silence, several beats worth, and Damen was pleased with himself that it was not uncomfortable. He could talk like this with Laurent and it was … not quite fine but not unrewarding. He could think of Jokaste, in the way she existed as his lover, and not feel bad about himself.

“I don’t think I’d like it,” Laurent said, eventually. “I’d rather know what I was doing. And I don’t like mess.”

Damen laughed. He didn’t mean to. He wasn’t being mean. “You’re not allowed anyway.”

“I was weighing up my options,” Laurent protested, and his voice was light too.

“Encounter anything you like?”

“I’m not sure, yet,” Laurent said. “Tell me again about —” He hesitated and Damen wished for him to ask about marble balconies. Even leave behind his personal feelings and wonder about pliant slaves. “How badly you embarrassed yourself with a woman?” 

“Go to sleep.”

“No, I want to hear it.”

“I could tell you about my first time with another boy,” Damen said. “When you know what you like, it’s very easy to…give.”

“All right. I’m going to sleep.”  
-  
They picked up extra guards on the final leg of their journey. Well, the most efficient way for them to get past Laurent’s new rules about crossing the border was for him to identify himself as the Prince of Vere. By the time they met the first Akielon rider, they had quite the entourage. Damen saw the soldier pull hard on his reins, as if deciding whether he should flee or approach. His role was to report back, of course, so Damen called out before the young man could take off.

“Soldier,” he said, over-taking Laurent’s position at the head of this strange parade. “Is Nikandros of Delpha camped in the valley?”

“Yes…sir.” Recognising Damen as Akielon and someone of authority.

“Tell him Damianos approaches.”

“And the Prince of Vere,” added Laurent.

“But…”

“Now, soldier,” Damen said. The rider took off at speed. It would take longer for their group to make the last part of the journey though the urge was there for Damen to take off at speed, too. Laurent could keep up. The rest could follow. The Vaskian escort could handle the prisoner, who was lashed hard to the horse with his eyes and ears covered. The removal of his senses was at the far end of what Damen would tolerate in treating a prisoner, even an enemy. He had to re-imagine the burnt out village when Trude had struggled when the blindfold and plugs joined the gag. But it was the easiest way to continue to hide Damen’s true identity. Yes, he could tell his father what the man had said. He could show him the ring. But that wasn’t solid proof and Damen disliked the idea of having to convince his father. Let the man do it for him.

The sight of the Akielon camp was a brief balm to his sore eyes. Damen knew army camps as well as he knew his home in the palace. The straight canvas tents, the smattering of camped in circles of darker fabric, the animal noises, the clash of training swords, the sound of his own language — they all washed warmly over his senses. 

“Welcome home,” Laurent said, in a soft voice without any trace of mocking.

Damen met his eyes but had no words to say. Home, where he faced betrayal. Home, where his time with Laurent was over. Home, where the thirst for blood was drying out the Autumn air again.

Leaves crunched beneath them. The horses fell in tight around Damen, everyone but him aware of the risk posed by riding into an Akielon camp. Vaskians and Veretians were not beloved by anyone here, and less so with the recent violence. 

“You’re with me,” Damen said. He was the Prince and these were Nikandros’s men. They knew him. They’d served and fought with him. They reined in their hatred because their future king was at the head of this formation. “They’re not prisoners,” he told the approaching Akielons. 

Among them, he recognized some of his guard and some of Nikandros’s. They were flanking him. 

He’d almost forgotten what it was like to be cushioned like this. 

Damen looked to Laurent, making sure he stayed beside him as their horses made their way through the camp. Riding, Damen gave instructions to his men. Have their escort fed and treated with respect. Have the prisoner guarded. Don’t speak to him. Don’t speak in front of him. 

“Should we send —” Atkis began, but Damen rode ahead when Nikandros emerged from his tent. Dismounting, he threw the reins to a servant. 

He glanced to his left where Laurent had done the same.

Relief was evident on Nikandros’s face.

“Welcome home,” Nikandros said.

Damen felt his own relief and smiled. He clasped his friend’s forearm, grateful for the hard muscle he felt there. 

“You didn’t look that happy when I said it,” Laurent muttered, and launched into his own directions to the guards he had picked up. His Prince’s Guard were appearing too with the slightly awestruck look of men who would have been greatly punished by Auguste of Vere for losing their charge had he not reappeared. Laurent looked at Damen, who understood that Laurent had to deal with this. 

The tent was appointed with all the comforts a kyros should have. Damen stretched his back and gulped down some cool water. There was food that he would eat later. A slave approached with a warm, damp towel and Damen hesitated before he took it. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“This one lives to serve.” Pressing her forehead to the ground. There’d be dirt on her face. Damen felt it like a smear on his own skin. 

“Send everyone out,” he told Nikandros. “I have much to tell you.”

But he found when it was time to speak, there was much he wanted to leave out. Nikandros would not understand the roundabout way they had apprehended the Vaskian agitator. Damen had no words to explain the brothel or the woods or those nights alone. So the story was stark, and he felt uncharacteristically self-conscious as he explained what had happened.

Nikandros noticed. “You’ve not been speaking Akielon, lately,” he said.

The clumsiness heightened as Laurent sauntered into the tent. Keeping everyone out did not include him. Somehow he’d gotten Nikandros’s loyal guards to feel the same. Damen thought how telling is so sparsely in front of Laurent might diminish the truth of their experience. But Laurent was a prince. He understood circumspection. He was kindly quiet when Damen got to the part of the story where Kastor was revealed as the root of the whole mess. Nikandros was quietly angry; shoulders tense and fists clenched. He had never liked or trusted Kastor. Even before Jokaste, Nikandros believed him to be of poor character. 

It occurred to Damen now that Nikandros had probably been privy to facets of Kastor’s personality and snippets of information about his resentment that he never would have seen. 

“I gave this to Jokaste.” Damen took out the emerald ring. 

“Jokaste didn’t travel to the border and impersonate you,” Nikandros said. “He stayed in my home, Damen. He ate at my table and poked fun at my guards while he was plotting this.” Then, “I’m not sure that the capture will stop the agitation.” He gave Damen a rundown of ways tension had over-spilled in his absence. Four patrolmen met four Veretian guards. Two of the eight survived. Localised violence over personal matters. Moving of troops; preparations for war.

“I’ll make sure it does,” Laurent said. 

“Your troops swell just beyond the border,” Nikandros said. “The lords are hungry for war.”

“They won’t disobey my brother.”

“How long can your brother tell them to refrain from fighting without losing support?” 

“Enough,” Damen said. “There won’t be any fighting. Laurent will keep them under control in Vere. We’ve already snuffed out the source. You will keep control here.” The next sentence had to pushed out. “I will return to Ios to face my brother.”

At that, a look of distress passed across Nikandros’s face. 

“I can’t fight petty rows while rot sets in at the palace,” Damen continued. As much as he would have liked to continue his work here with Laurent, he could not. He must go.

“Damen,” Nikandros said. “Kastor’s not in Ios. He and your father are here at the border.”


	12. Chapter 12

The chair beneath him was solid, but Damen still pressed his hands into the seat as if that was all that holding him up. From the corner of his eye, he saw Laurent take a step towards him before stopping still. 

“Where?” Damen asked.

“There’s a second camp. About an hours ride, closer to Ravenel,” Nikandros said. “Makedon’s armies are there.”

“Right.” He processed that. Makedon was loyal to his father. He probably regarded Damen as little more than a pup and respected Kastor’s age. His armies were superior to Nikandros’s which normally would not have mattered. He would relish a fight with the Veretians. Tarasis was in his territory. Damen had already worked with him in defending some other villages. 

It would not be easy, if it came to a fight.

“Why?” Laurent asked.

“This is Akielon business,” Nikandros said.

“No. Tell me,” said Damen.

“They know of the escalating violence, of course. And then…Damen, you disappeared into Vere with the Prince. Your father wanted us to go after you. I told him you left me with a plan.”

“You lied to your king?” Laurent asked, admiringly.

Damen stood, abruptly. “I have to go now before word gets through. He can’t know of the prisoner.”

“You know what they say about rushing in,” Laurent said.

“Enough. This is the only way. Nikandros, recall your scouts and have horses prepared. Laurent, get your men and go back to your side immediately.”

“I will not.”

“I’m not arguing. It’s not safe. I can’t pro —” He looked at Nikandros. “Please see my orders followed now. Have the prisoner brought back, too.”Nikandros nodded, and left.

“You’d be a valuable prisoner,” Damen said.

“You wouldn’t risk my brother’s wrath.”

“I wouldn’t. But it would appease the armies on this side and get yours to stop posturing. My father is not afraid of your brother or his wrath.”

“Damen, I will go with you.”

“No.”

“I can corroborate your story. I can help.”

“No!” Firm, or attempting to be. There was panic, too. The thought of Laurent facing his father in an army tent, knowing the way his father could crush men, was too much for Damen. This wasn’t his fight. The turmoil in Vere was all down to Damen’s family and he couldn’t remember now if he had even apologized for that. “It’s not an option,” Damen continued. “Your brother did not approve. I need to focus.”

“I was going to offer —” Laurent’s hand was out-stretched, palm open, but there was nothing to hold but air. “You should clean up and change before you see him.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Image matters,” Laurent said. 

“You have to be safe.” Damen took another step towards Laurent, who dropped his hand. Damen kept his arms carefully by his side. “Go back to your people.” He was aware of the activity outside in the camp — footsteps on soft earth and orders being given. He was aware of the feeling in his chest. Laurent’s eyes were focused entirely on Damen, and that alone cause the feeling in his chest to burgeon. 

“Be careful,” Laurent said.

“I thought I’d have more time to figure this out,” Damen admitted. The guards would be back any second now. “That Vaskian’s word and an old ring doesn’t —”

“Wake up, Damianos,” Laurent snapped. “Your brother is trying to usurp your throne. First he took your woman and now by your father’s side in your place. He’s probably gaining favour among the powerful men and building his own army as we speak. You might be obsessed enough with Vere because you didn’t get that grand victory all those years ago but your brother is focused on your crown. Trust me or not, I don’t care. But you need to —”

“I do trust you,” Damen said. It was easier to say that than acknowledge the truth in Laurent’s words. Even now, Damen still clung to the idea that there was a mistake somewhere. It had had been easy to believe the picture presented in the Vaskian camp when he was away from all he knew. But back among his countrymen, Damen wanted better. “Here, alone, I trust you. It’s easy but there’s a whole world outside where everything is difficult.”

“What do you think his aim is? Your half brother.”

“Hurt me. Distract me,” Damen said. 

“That’s it?” Laurent stepped away from the brazier, towards the knife-scarred table. “I think he wanted war. I think you know that, too.”

“There are other places we could expand, if that’s what he wanted. There’s talk of colonies already and —”

“The last time our countries fought,” Laurent said, quietly. He had come to stand right beside Damen as if conscious of being overheard. “A king lost his life. Do you think your brother doesn’t know that?”

“That was an accident.”

“It was not. It was just made to look like one,” Laurent said. “I might as well say it. I’ve given you every other ounce of ammunition. My uncle planned it all. Had you not gone to Auguste’s tent that night, had he fought as our uncle had wanted, there would have been two people cleared from his path instead of one.”

Damen wanted to say _Kastor isn’t your uncle,_ but couldn’t. He couldn’t really think of that man at all without wanting to hit something. But that was not the issue. He felt the truth of Laurent’s words. There was no painful revelation as there had been in the Vaskian camp. It was simply the truth. If Veretians kept attacking and Akielons kept defending, it would go from flurries to battles to more. And Damen, who couldn’t bear the thought of seeing his brother and Jokaste around the palace, would have fought. He would have fought if there had been no betrayal. It was in his blood. Being a warrior would make his people proud. He would have thought he was protecting them, if Laurent had not come to Marlas for trade negotiations. If he had not seen the truth.

“He’s my brother.”

“Blood does not negate hatred or disregard,” Laurent said. “What you feel is not what he feels. Be careful.” 

“Go back,” Damen said. 

The guards came back, then. Damen had to leave.

-  
Back in Akielon clothing, the red cloak at his shoulders pinned with a lion, Damen made the last leg of this journey. He had imagined it would happen in stages — a lengthy trip back to Ios where he would rally his allies and make sense of Kastor’s subterfuge. Even now, while his hand went instinctively to the scar on his stomach, Damen struggled to believe Kastor’s malice. War was in their blood. Steel-bound expansion was their father’s raison d’etre. If Kastor wanted to make an independent military move, it could have happened legitimately. To weasel with paid shills in Vere was dishonourable; to use his own brother’s name unthinkable.

The scar burned.

For him to engineer death for Damen, hurt like a mortal wound. 

Damen felt no happiness at the sight of the royal camp.

But the soldiers, servants, slaves and followers based there were happy to see the returning prince. It glowed from them, with their hushed joy and awed obeisance. He wondered if the prisoner Trude felt it, if he would realise there was something else afoot here. 

Damen’s pulse was racing, and the rhythm hurt his ribcage. It was nothing like preparing for battle and the physical reactions that brought. It was worse.

His father’s tent was obvious without direction. He knew the guards posted outside, the subtle flags that only the king used, and the quality of the canvas. With one hand and no words, he bid his guard wait outside. He wondered if this would feel different if Laurent was by his side, then pushed that away, because he had to walk into the tent.

His father smiled at the sight of him, showing the lines on his face. Damen felt his face respond in kind. All he’d ever wanted was to make his father proud. Happiness never came into it before. The world knew Theomedes as a tough, unyielding king and after everything with Jokaste, and these months away, Damen had taken on that partial impression. It was nice to get a smile like that. To see the King stand, come out from behind his desk, and grasp him by the shoulders to get a proper look at him.

“Father,” Damen said. His words were raw.

“Damianos. I half-expected a ransom letter from the brat prince instead.” Still smiling, as his hands withdrew. “You’ve seen the reports? What were your findings?”

“He wouldn’t hold me hostage,” Damen said.

“He might try,” Theomedes replied. “You’d never let him. Son, what are your thoughts on how we should proceed? The men are restless. The attacks cannot go unpunished much longer or —”

“Where’s Kastor?”

“Appeasing generals.”

“Will you have him sent for?” Damen had to do this. “Send your men outside, too.”

His father made a face like he was amused by Damen’s requests but did as he was asked. Maybe Damen had forgotten, too, what it was like to not be the most senior man in any room. 

“She’s not here,” Theomedes said, when the tent was emptied. “Her lying-in period begins and she is gone The Triptolme.”

“I don’t —” But just because he didn’t want to talk about Jokaste didn’t mean he could avoid the subject altogether. He reached into his cloak and held the emerald ring within his fist. “I wish her good health with the pregnancy,” he said, just as Kastor’s shadow fell over him. Damen did not turn around but he knew the sound of his brother’s footfall. He’d heard that intentional heaviness, the wide-set arms, all of his life. The walk of man who wanted everyone to get out of his way.

Rage surged and Damen had the urge to punch his brother’s face. He resisted. The sharpness of the ring in his fist kept him grounded.

“You’re back,” Kastor said. “I thought you’d fallen foul to the prince of Vere.”

“So did father.”

“We had different ideas about what falling foul would mean,” Kastor said. Damen still had not turned around. He didn’t understand how his brother could act so naturally. They’d parted on bad terms. Damen had returned with worse feelings than ever before. “Are you still smarting, brother?”

“I sent my congratulations,” Damen said. He would have learned to be happy for Kastor and Jokaste. The child, too. “What have you been doing in my absence?”

Kastor had gone to stand beside their father. Damen thought of opposing armies on a battlefield. 

“Things are tense,” Kastor said. “The Veretians are…”

“Enough,” Damen interrupted. “Bluffing doesn’t suit you. Speak the truth.”

Kastor looked at their father. “What’s happened to you?”

Damen let out a disbelieving laugh.

What a question.

There was probably a better way to lead into all this. Maybe he should have told his father first. Maybe he should have asked Laurent for some advice about what to say. Tying people up in knots with words was not something Damen knew how to do.

So he signaled to his men outside to haul in the prisoner at the same time as he placed the ring on his father’s table. 

“I gifted that to Jokaste in our courtship,” Damen said. “She never gave it back.”

Theomedes drew his thick eyebrows together. Kastor paled.

“We tracked the men responsible for the attack on Tarasis, and all the unrest across the border, to the foothills of the Vaskian mountains and killed them.” Damen said. “Their leader was carrying this and he had some interesting things to say.”

His men threw Trude on the ground in front of Theomedes feet. Damen stepped back deliberately.

“He begged me to bring him to the Akielon army camps. He had a deal, he said.” 

Damen’s guards removed the hood, the gag, the ear plugs. Trude composed himself quickly. He stayed on his knees with all his attention on Kastor.

“I did everything you asked,” Trude rasped out. “When you retaliate, no-one will blame you Damianos. I did —”

“You brought us a delusional fool,” Kastor said to Damen.

“Damianos, please. I know I am being impudent but I speak the truth. The seed was planted all throughout the border. I only confessed so the guard would bring me here and spare my life.”

“He lies. The Veretians set this up,” Kastor said. “Damen has fallen under the thrall of the prince just because he looks like —”

“Enough,” Theomedes said. 

“There are no lies but Kastor’s,” Damen said. “I am sorry to say this, father, but —”

Theomedes gave him a look at made him stop speaking.

Trude’s head swung around but he was pushed into the ground again by the guards. 

“Damianos is saying you colluded with this Vaskian waste of space in order to cause dissent in Vere. You got him to cut down an innocent village,” 

Theomedes said. “You impersonated your brother. You gave a dishonourable hiresword my late wife’s ring.” 

Kastor must have seen that he was caught out. There was no coming back from a betrayal of this magnitude. Brothers or no, he had used the name of the king’s son. He lied to the king. He might as well have killed those innocent villagers with his own hands.

“No. I don’t know where he got the ring. I never —”

Denial would get him nowhere.

“Stop lying or you’ll be in the dirt, too.”

“Why?” Damen asked. “I never would —” But that was stupid. What he would do was not the same as what another person would do. It no longer  
mattered that he would never have hurt Kastor. 

“You never have to do anything,” Kastor spat. “You spend this year licking your wounds just because you couldn’t keep your woman happy. You called truce with the enemy prince rather than risk it on the battlefield.”

“I would have fought if there was another war,” Damen said, addressing his father alone. “I would lead every charge if I thought it was to protect our people. He knew that, too.” Then, with a pain in his chest like it was being cleaved open. “King Aleron of Vere died the last time our countries fought. Who would take the throne if I met a similar fate?”

“Stop this,” Theomedes said. His body was clenched tight. There was a look in his eyes that Damen had never seen before. 

“These accusations cannot stand,” Kastor said. “He has slandered my —”

Damen swore. His hand was on the hilt of his sword now. 

“Don’t,” said Theomedes.

“Draw,” said Damen. He saw past his own pain but the look on his father’s face was seared into his brain. It made him think of his mother, that she had died. “You say you have Akielon honour? Prove it. There is no better way to settle this.”

Kastor bared his teeth. “I ran you through before,” he said.

“I was a boy then.”

“I’ll give you what you want,” Kastor replied. “This is the only language you really know, brother. You might give me what I want.”

“Stop this now,” Theomedes said. He turned towards Kastor and Damen could hardly hear any words. His muscles ached for action. His brother did this to him. He thought of Laurent, and what he said of his uncle, and the anger swirled wild in his head. “Don’t you dare draw on the heir to the throne, Kastor. Do you understand me?”

“Father —”

“No.” Theomedes drew his own sword. 

Damen’s heart stopped.

Started again with a jolt, as his father pushed it into the Vaskian agitator’s back up through the ribs, right into Trude’s heart.  
He wouldn’t have seen it coming. The shocked guards still had his face pressed into the dirt.

Damen had the instinct to grab the ring back from the table but he knew better than to annoy his father further right now. His father had killed  
their witness. Kastor was standing, a smug smile on his face, and Damen remembered the way he’d gloated at winning Jokaste.

“Leave him for the crows,” Theomedes told the guard. “Say nothing of what happened here or you’ll join him.” They dragged the body out. The King looked at his sons again.

“Father.” Damen’s voice was strangled.

“We don’t need a witness,” Theomedes said. “The word of the future king is enough.”

“He meant to see me dead.”

“Kastor?”

Kastor’s voice was dead. “You have no proof.”

“Have you nothing to say?” Theomedes pressed. “What you did is treasonous. You know the penalty.”

“I’m going to be a father.”

“Did —” Damen forced himself to continue. Intent meant a lot to him. “Jokaste? I know she wanted to be a Queen.”

“We all want things. You’re the only one who gets them,” Kastor said. Then, “We hate Vere. So what if there is trouble there.”

“Tarasis.”

“Co-incidence,” said Kastor.

“If you were me,” Theomedes said to Damen. “If you were king, what would you do?”

“I’m not like him,” Damen said. The words came from the depths of him because there were some things you did not think about. “I’d never kill a brother.”

Theomedes nodded. “Kastor, you’ll be detained while I consider. Do not attempt anything else or you’ll see what happens when you cross a king.” He recalled his guard and ordered the watch, the escort, the shaming of the king’s eldest son. “Damianos, you will stay and we will discuss how best to proceed.”

“The threat is eliminated. Without him —”

“Vere still has a rotten core. They think we take their children and rape their women. They will not stop because of one dead man.”

“It’s in hand,” Damen said. “The new rules will work. The increase of patrol and the improved conditions for workers and trade. Vere wants to co-operate.”

“The prince told you that,” Theomedes said. “Veretians lie. Where is he anyway?”

“Gone back, as far as I know.” Trying for nonchalance. 

“You enjoyed working with him.”

“Enjoyed? Who told you that?”

Theomedes sat down again. “I saw your face describing how you caught the Vaskian.”

“I didn’t say anything. Father, it’s not —” Damen didn’t know how to conclude that sentence. “We both achieved our aims and will implement new  
perspectives on either side of the border. That is it. I sent him back.”

“It would have made more sense to keep him until the tension ends,” Theomedes said. “That would keep those Veretians in line. Their armies gather, too, you know.”

“People are not for keeping,” Damen said, and he felt the words like a new truth. The gnawing he’d dismissed since he ordered Kallias to tell him  
Kastor’s whereabouts in Ios had swelled with Laurent’s open disdain and flooded through him when he’d thought of outsider perspective in Vask. 

Theomedes was speaking again and Damen had to pay attention to his father. 

“I thought they had done something to you,” he said. “Looking back, your brother was not at all upset.”

“I was fine. He wouldn’t — tracking the culprit took me further than expected. All the way to Vask.”

“No more of that,” his father said. “You must take your place beside me now.”

“I will, father.”

Damen would. No more running around the border dealing with thing that should be delegated. No more licking his wounds. He would return to Ios and learn how to take his father’s place as a rightful ruler of this country. He would make Akielos better.

“I’ll send for food. Have a tent prepared and we —”

Damen startled. “Please excuse me,” he said. “I plan to return to Nikandros’s camp tonight. I have matters to attend to there. My household awaits and —”

“Damen.”

“Please, father.”

Theomedes looked at him for a long time. Damen felt like a boy again. 

“Go,” he said. 

Damen’s men were surprised to be on the move again. But they set aside their wine and the slight celebrations caused by Damianos’s return. They brought him water and a fresh horse. They exchanged wary glances, knowing there was more to this brief visit than they would ever know. 

“Sir?” Atkis knew Damen more as an army superior than a royal. It was his way of asking if he was all right. 

Damen schooled his features. Whatever was showing on his face, he wiped away.

“I’ve already ridden for ten hours today,” he said. “Next time, you lot are pulling a wagon.”

-  
Damen was tired. Physical exhaustion that came from long journeys and strange fights, he would deal with. This was different. Tonight, he was tired right down to his marrow. He couldn’t socialise with Nikandros’s men tonight or Nikandros. He couldn’t eat. He dismissed the servants filling the metal tub in his hastily erected tent. With some measure of awareness that his action would crush her, he sent away the supple slave girl who’d been waiting by his bed.

His loyal men, his advisors, attendants, friends and slaves were all out there in the fire lit night and Damen could not send for them. He closed his eyes and wished for the sight of starry skies. Walking through the tent, he ran his hand along the carved side table. Someone had brought his things from Marlas. His lion pin, which he was already wearing. His clothing. His personal effects. Damen wasn’t attached to things but he was glad for the familiarity. 

Heavily, he sat on the grand chair behind a large table. That’s how his father had sat in his tent. These bulky items of furniture had been transported here on the off chance a prince might want someone to sit. Damen remembered sitting on a stool in a brothel.  
There was some activity at the entrance to his tent but it was so soft he did not lift his head. Lykaios and Erasmus were at the camp and they would be brought to him. Slaves were so low in status they did not count as guards and soldiers did when it came to gaining entry. 

“You’re back.”

Damen’s head snapped up. 

“Laurent. You’re still here.” Then, rougher. “I told you to go back.”

Laurent took the few steps through the tent to stand by Damen’s table. It hurt to look at him — the elegance of his body and the thoughtfulness hidden behind his eyes. It was there if you knew where to look.

Or maybe if he let you see it.

“I don’t do what you tell me, barbarian,” Laurent said, lightly. “I had matters to attend to with the kyros. Officially, as you know, I came to Delfeur for trade negotiations and I will not leave without tying up those loose ends.”

Damen readied himself to speak, wishing for some elegant words to come to mind after these long hours of strategy. Perhaps elegant words would not be welcome. Laurent was spikier than that.

“You —” Damen began.

“No. Not that tone of voice,” Laurent said, walking around the table. “I came to ask what’s happening with the armies now. That’s what I told my men.”

“I thought you’d be asking why I was back.”

“I can guess,” Laurent said. “Because you are back.”

“I told my father I had to see my people.”

Laurent said, “Tell me what happened with Kastor.”

It was easier than Damen anticipated, to recount it. Laurent did not interrupt. His face remained blank.

“I thought it would be harder to face him,” Damen admitted.

“I am glad your father believed you,” Laurent said. “I am surprised he didn’t kill him though.”

“He’s his son,” Damen said. 

“I thought killing was easy for you.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

Laurent looked away. “Are you taking your armies back?”

“I never lost my command,” Damen said. “Some troops were diverted, of course, and will remain on border patrol. There is no question of the bannermen’s loyalty. Perhaps…in the south I might have some work to do. But it won’t be hard. I’m good at that.”

“Are you taking them away from the border?”

Oh. They were back to this. 

Laurent was no longer accepting friendship.

“As you well know, a large portion of the troops are permanently here. As Delpha is their home.” Nikandros’s generals, Makedon and Straton had  
large defensive troops under their command. It was necessary so close to Vask and Vere to make sure those countries knew not to even think about invasion. 

It worked. Most of the time.

“Guion’s son is agitating against you. Touars would love to fight.”

“You need to keep them in line, then.”

“Yes. Because they all listen to the untried eighteen year old prince who hasn’t even served yet. Recall your men and —”

“Half are staying.”

“It will be hard to eliminate the bad feeling with this show of aggression right here. That might speak to your kind but—”

Those words stung Damen. “Kind,” he repeated, aiming to match Laurent’s cool tone. Laurent was standing casually by one of the braziers as if he had come to ask about dinner. “I expected better of you, Laurent.”

The dim light did not disguise the flush the darkened Laurent’s face. “You know what it looks like having troops gather here.”

“Protection for our people. It’s non-negotiable.”

“I can only do so much, Damen.”

The sound of his name on Laurent’s lips was a treat to Damen’s ears. Any minute, he was going to say something stupid like that. 

“The seeds of agitation had long been sown. One captured clan won’t undo them. There could be more like Trude. And there are plenty like that noble boy Aimeric spreading his word. We have to be defensive.” Ignoring the question.

“The tension will continue,” Laurent said. The casual stance was gone, abandoned when the flush hit his cheeks. His voice was sharp as broken glass. 

Damen understood that Laurent had been sent to Marlas to discuss economic matters with Nikandros and done so with as much success was possible for a young prince in a hostile environment. He was clever and he had great potential but he could not wipe away years of distrust and that human need to hold as much money as possible in a few meetings. But Laurent had his own plans when he came south and they were as idealistic as any rhetoric spouted among frustrated workers. He had thought there was a slave trade and there was not, really. He had thought he could somehow fix the situation at the border then and that was not something that could be done over night.

Damen had thought, when he was not much older than Laurent, that a late night visit to an enemy tent would fix a century of hatred and  
occupation; months of deaths and war. 

“You have fulfilled your duty to your brother. You can take pride in your accomplishments,” Damen said. Laurent’s mouth became a straight line. That was not what he wanted to hear. “The army remains,” Damen continued. “The motivation of the Vaskian man is not known and won’t be known. We have no reason to call them off just yet. And Nikandros pointed out that, historically, Veretians have been known to say one thing and do another so —”

“What? I don’t lie to you.”

“You must be the only true Veretian, then.” Damen’s voice had gone soft. “Well, you and your brother.”

“Good thing he is in charge then.”

“And that you will continue the peace process from your side.”

“You’re so sure?”

“Yes,” said Damen. “It would be different than what I would do, I’m sure.”

“I’m meant to hate you,” Laurent said. “I’m not going to see you again. I don’t want our countries to go to war again.” With his eyes averted, his  
breath held.

“Laurent …” Damen was better at acting than talking. Carefully, he put one hand on Laurent’s shoulder. He thought of how it felt to push it back into place after the fall. He thought of binding the soft skin and the trail of goosebumps that had appeared at the touch. Laurent was not as strong as Damen but he was fast and decisive. He could have moved. He could have protested when Damen turned his body towards him. He could have concealed the catch in his breathing,

“When you offered to come with me to Ios,” Damen continued.

“I told you. I don’t want war.” Laurent still had his eyes on the ground. “You told me, your father would grind me under his sandal.”

“I could talk to him first.”

“My word would still mean nothing.” 

Damen brought his hand to rest against the side Laurent’s neck. There was rich fabric beneath his hand where he’d stupidly expected to feel flesh. But it was warm and his thumb could touch a soft piece of skin beneath Laurent’s ear. 

“I—” Laurent began. Damen searched for some sign that Laurent was unwilling and found, beyond his own selfish want, only stillness. 

“Go on,” Damen said. 

“I’ve never, really,” he continued. “In any real way. I don’t —”

“I wouldn’t hurt you. Not with any part of me.”

“You did before.” Laurent took a step backwards. Damen did his best to ignore the pain that caused. 

“There won’t be another time like this,” Damen said. Then, “I hoped — When my father asked me to remain in his camp tonight, I refused.”  
“All your things are here.” Laurent ran his index finger along the side table where Damen’s belongings had been left. “I heard you sent a slave girl away.”

Damen rested the heels of his palms on the table, leaning back in a casual manner that did not exist inside his brain.

“Soldiers gossip worse than fishwives,” he said as Laurent examined a straight razor. “Where are your things? The props.”

“Hoping to continue your studies?” Laurent turned around. 

“I hate to see hard work wasted.”

“You found that hard?” Laurent asked. 

“No,” said Damen.

Laurent made his way back to Damen. Not as close as before but close enough for Damen to see the darkness in his eyes. Close enough to see the imprint of a tooth on his bottom lip. Damen held himself very still as Laurent’s hand reached towards him.

He didn’t breathe when Laurent traced the outline of the pin at his shoulder with the tip of his finger.

“You’re going back to Ios.” It wasn’t a question.

“It’s time for me to take my place beside my father.”

“I remember when you got this.” Laurent’s thumb was pressed against the lion’s mouth. “My brother and father were talking after a hunt. I was trotting behind on a pony. They said, well, I can’t remember the details. Theomedes called the kyroi to the Kingsmeet and gave his son Damianos the pin, marking him as heir to the throne. Celebration was had by all. I remember them saying about Kastor — that you would have been better off ridding yourself of him them.”

“I was always the heir. They brought me there when I was a newborn, too,” Damen said. “At seventeen, imagine I was old enough to take the throne should anything happen to my father.”

Laurent traced the pin one last time. Over his shoulder, Damen could see the contents of the side-table. The lion was engraved on many of his things. It marked his belongings and his household. His personal guard wore the badge. Sometimes the palace cooks baked the symbol into the bread.

He said, apropos of nothing. “I’m going to change things when I take the throne. It will be better for everyone. The slaves…I want us to be better.”  
Laurent’s mouth was slack. He was blinking.

Damen’s belongings were here. Blindly, he stepped back and tore open one of his trunks. He had more pins. They weren’t anything special. There wasn’t time. If he had time, and a different life, he would have had something crafted fit for a prince.

“Is —” Laurent began.

Damen threw some winter furs to the ground. There was definitely another pin. 

When he laid his hand on hit, felt the edges against his palm, his heart took flight. 

“Take this,” he said, gruffly. He wanted it so badly he forgot how to be courteous. 

“I wouldn’t wear that in Vere.”

“I know.” Damen smiled. “It wouldn’t suit your ridiculous clothing. It’s…” He couldn’t say what it wanted it to be. “I have others. My guard wear them. My … my mother wore one. It… doesn’t have to mean anything. I would like you to have something.”

“The fur you just threw in the dirt is likely worth more.” But Laurent’s cheeks were flushed. “I can’t accept this,” he said, even as he was opening his palm for Damen.

“You’re the Prince of Vere. You can take what you want.”

Laurent allowed him to press the pin into his open hand. He cradled it like a child cradling an insect that had crawled into his palm, not quite knowing when it would escape. 

“I’m leaving in the morning,” he said. “It was too late tonight.”

Damen moved slowly. He was conscious of the strength of himself, the difference in height. He thought of secrets, then he remembered Laurent falling in beside him when they took down the Vaskian clan. A stray lock of hair had fallen over Laurent’s forehead, so Damen brushed it back behind the shell of his ear. Laurent didn’t step back. He didn’t protest or scowl or do anything but lock eyes with Damen. 

They gazed at one another, and Damen had the feeling that he was doing everything for the first time.

He leaned down. 

Laurent was leaving in the morning.

That’s what made him close his eyes, seeing at the last second that Laurent was too.

The kiss was soft. He made sure of that. He offered it to Laurent, refusing to take anything. Laurent was still, mostly, until the second time Damen brushed his mouth against his and he responded enough for Damen to feel the slightly damp drag of his lips. It was sweeter than Damen would have imagined. 

Carefully, slowly, he rested one hand against Laurent’s side. He could feel the thick raised fabric of the brocade jacket and beneath it the sharp point of his hipbone as Laurent bunched his fists in Damen’s cloak. The kiss deepened with Laurent taking Damen’s bottom lip between his. Damen smiled against Laurent’s mouth and used his thumb to caress the side of his jaw. The skin was so soft. The press of their mouths, the slow tangle and the taste of another person. 

Damen did not dare think it would go further than this, even as Laurent pressed right against him. They were chest to chest. Laurent was standing on the tips of his toes. Damen wrapped his arm around Laurent’s back to support him.

They were kissing.

Damen pushed everything else aside. The truth of their situation didn’t matter now, nor did the world outside the tent. Laurent’s mouth was soft, giving, and Damen could comb his fingers through his silky hair.

He thought they could kiss like this, like boys, for as long as Laurent wanted and kept thinking that as his instinct alerted him to another presence in the tent. Unwilling to let go of Laurent, and completely unashamed of what he was doing, Damen barely spared a glance to the right.

“It’s all right,” he murmured to Laurent, who had stiffened in his arms. “It’s just Lykaios.” Only a slave could slip in like that. He’d send her away in a second. She’d never tell anyone. Any Akielon noble knew it was no big deal to continued with whatever you were doing while a slave was in the room. Lykaios had the best training and impeccable instincts. Even with Damen, who was so familiar, she would not dare lift her head from the ground.

“It’s…” Laurent sounded shaky. He made no move to extract himself and Damen felt a brand new joy in his chest, soaring like a shooting star. It was ridiculous but Damen was thinking about Veretian customs. They weren’t shy there, by all accounts.

“Lykaios,” Damen said, pitching his voice to be kind but not misleading. Not with Laurent here. “Leave us, now.” 

She nodded somehow, in that prostate position, and stood with her eyes fixed downwards. Damen returned his attention to Laurent, eager to continue what they were doing. It need not be kissing, if Laurent wanted to stop. They had the night. They could stop, talk, drink wine with the furs wrapped around their shoulders.

But Laurent’s face was different. His eyes had hardened and his lips were curled in something like horror.

“What’s wrong?” Damen asked, concerned, as Laurent removed himself from his embrace. Had he gone too far? He’d told Laurent about Kallias  
and Jokaste. Did he think Lykaios would gossip?

Laurent swore, like he was cursing at himself, and flung the lion pin back at Damen. The soft metal bounced off his chest and hit the ground.  
“I am not to be owned,” Laurent spat. “Did you honestly think I would accept the same token as you give your slaves?”

“No!” Damen couldn’t explain quickly enough. Or clearly enough. “It’s not — I don’t give it. It’s about my household. Protection. I told you —”

“Would it amuse you to see me with a pin like one of your bed boys? Until the fair slave comes of age enough for you to tell yourself you’re different?”

“Laurent, please. I—”

“I don’t care,” Laurent said, coolly. “I don’t care about you or your rotten country.” He pushed past Damen, knocking two chairs over in the process. Acting on instinct, Damen reached out to grab Laurent’s arm but Laurent darted out of reach. “The first time you grabbed me was horrific enough,” he said. “Don’t make me endure that a second time.”

He fled Damen’s tent.

Damen cursed. He kicked the fallen chairs out of his way with the heel of foot. Gripped by the same powerlessness he’d felt before, when Jokaste slept with his brother, when he discovered Kastor was plotting against him, he was blinded with anger and frustration and it was directed inwards at himself. 

He should have been smarter. He should have been less impulsive.

The tent was too big, too empty, and too small all at once.

He cursed again and pushed out of the tent. His height, and the fact every Akielon bowed out of his way, gave Damen the advantage in following Laurent. He could see the Veretian guard just ahead and between their formation, snatches of Laurent’s bright hair. It didn’t even look mussed.  
He assumed Laurent would go to whatever tent Nikandros had generously assigned him but they kept going right to the edge of the camp. 

Damen followed, ignoring curious looks and drunken soldiers and calls for conversation. There were some logs and a small fire in his path so he simply jumped over them.

Laurent pressed on past the edge of the camp into the wide expanse of grassland beyond. Vere was not far. But he was on foot. 

It was very dark away from the torches of camp and the stars were the only bright things. The guard hung back as Laurent stalked through the grass to be alone. 

“Don’t,” Damen said, when Jord made a move as if to keep him back. “Laurent,” he called out. “Wait.”

Damen stopped, a few feet from him. The grass almost reached his knees. Among it were dried brown leaves drifted over from the treeline. He felt them crunch under his feet.

He felt the beat of his own heart.

“Wait,” he said again. "Please."

Laurent stopped.

He said, “I’m not letting you chase me.”  


“I’m sorry. I was thoughtless.” 

“Yes. That’s one way to describe it.” Laurent’s breath fogged the air. His mouth was still a little swollen. Damen walked closer. Laurent stood his ground.

“I did not mean to offend you,” Damen continued. “I would not equate you with a slave or any kind of possession. I just…I wanted to give you something.”

“That was not necessary,” Laurent said. “And I should have known that the customs of your culture were not compatible with mine.”  
Damen wanted to say _they could be._

“The clouds are gone,” he said, instead. “The stars are visible here again.” Another step. “They are the same here, as Arles and as Ios.”  
Laurent’s expression was blank. 

“The need for cover stories is long over. The next phase of keeping the peace will be delivered separately.”

“I still think they look nice.”

“I’ve lost interest in that field of study.”

“Laurent, please.” Damen braved another step. He saw the steel behind Laurent’s eyes no matter how hard he tried to make it night sky. “You kissed me. You felt it —”

“I’m leaving at first light,” Laurent said. 

“That’s hours away.” Damen had to say it one more time. He wanted an admission. “You kissed me.”

“And so?” Laurent arched his eye brows. “You told me yourself as we traveled, you fuck people all the time without seeing them again. Without thinking of them. I let you kiss me. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Laurent.”

“Don’t embarrass yourself further,” he said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Damen knew Laurent, anyone, was capable of saying cruel things they did not necessarily mean. That didn’t stop them hurting though.

“I’ll write,” he said.

“Any official correspondence goes through the king and council.”

“I’m asking if I can write to you.”

Laurent’s face was a mask. There was nothing left of the boy who’d shared his secrets, who’d sighed into his mouth.

“No,” he said. “You cannot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading and all your continued support, guys! your comments mean the world to me. i'm sorry for any distracting typos/missing words lately. i'm an editing failure.


	13. Chapter 13

**_The following Spring_ **

It was a herald, not a messenger that marched into camp and that’s how Laurent knew it was serious. The other soldiers exchanged looks. The captain scurried behind the man, who was wearing the blue and gold starburst sigil. 

“Laurent,” whispered Hugo, his bunkmate. “He’s coming right this way.”

Laurent stood, just so no-one could accuse him of not meeting soldier standards in this moment.

“I bear a message from King Auguste of Vere,” the herald called, directly to Laurent. “He orders you to travel to Arles immediately, taking the shortest route in order to present yourself at the palace post haste. The celebration is long planned for the presentation of the young Prince Alexandre and nineteenth birthday of Prince Laurent. There cannot be a birthday party for Prince Laurent if he is not present.”

“Sure there can.” He had excused himself for both his fifteenth and sixteenth birthdays and the party had gone on without him.

The herald turned to the captain. “King Auguste orders you to release this soldier at once. Prince Laurent is going home.”

“Of course,” the captain said. It looked like he was holding himself back from berating Laurent in front of everyone as he would before the truth of his identity. Certainly, he’d scolded him enough in the four months prior to this. Laurent could obscure the fact he was a prince but his looks, accent and manner marked him as aristocratic. Any captain would be harder on a boy soldier like that - especially a last minute addition to a backwater troop at the request of dear Great Uncle Councilor Herode. 

Unbeknownst to all but his brother and closest guard, Laurent had spent three months with a smallish troop on patrol to the north. Herode had arranged it. Laurent had assumed a name and a title, and waded into the not-so-scary world of the army. All those who had gossiped about his cowardice and weakness had been wrong. He took to army life just fine. The basics he already knew - learned hastily before the war and at greater depth by his brother’s side. He could fight, ride, plot and (when necessary) obey. The hardest part was choosing to remain anonymous. 

It wasn’t about what people thought of him. It was about proving it to himself.

At least, that’s what he told his brother.

Maybe the nights were harder, alone in a tent. Maybe the things he found funny, and looked to see that no-one else was laughing. Or the scant few battles, where he looked to his right and wished for the sight of strong, solid Damen.

Laurent stretched his arms above his head. “It’s over, Jord,” he said. Jord had to suffer the indignity of posing as a grunt soldier these months instead of a highly skilled palace guard. In terms of class, he fit right in with these rough men and boys in the most north eastern corner of Varenne. They were closer here to Skarva than Arles. That had been Laurent’s idea, too. Yes, he could have learned to serve with any of the troops near the capital. There’d be parades and maneuvers and the same tight discipline. But there’d be nothing wild or real about that. There’d be no action, no chance to show off his limited but impressive experience of fighting off Vaskian mountain clans.

No privacy.

“Your Highness,” Hugo, the orphan boy who’d been assigned his bunkmate and spent the last while calling Laurent various unsavoury names which were not insults, just how soldiers communicated. His eyes were very wide. 

“Help me pack, Hugo,” Laurent said. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

-  
Home was meant to be a comfort. Laurent had not an expectation of comfort on that level. It was something to be found within himself, his books, his horse and the few people he trusted. After all the time away — first in Marlas and that mission with Damianos through the countryside, then the weeks after wrangling peasants back to compliance and keeping border lords in line and undoing the work of that bastard Kastor and dismantling as much of the societal rot that had set in alone the border as he could (which, alas, was not something that could be done in weeks.) — and later the months as a junior soldier, Laurent had forged new ideas of comfort that were rooted in self-reliance and strength. 

He’d been spoiled. He’d been wrong about the slave trade. He’d been ineffective looking for the agitator and weak with Damianos.  
The high turrets and intricate stonework of the palace at Arles stretched up to meet the sky. Laurent craned his neck, dizzy with the effort of  
looking. It was not a comfort. In truth, he felt a little bit sick.

-  
If he was King, Laurent would have made some pithy remark about his prolonged absence. But Auguste was different. He pushed up off his throne the instant Laurent appeared in the hall, descended the steps of the dais, and wrapped him in a hug so fierce it took Laurent’s breath away.

It felt new and surprising every time someone showed him love.

Laurent let go first, though he still had more to give.

People talked.

“Welcome home.” Auguste had taken hold of Laurent’s shoulders, holding him in place, looking and smiling. “You’ve not been slacking out there with that troop, anyway.”

“Spying on me?”

“I can feel how much stronger you are even wrapped up in this heavy jacket.”

“Oh.” Laurent went red. He was aware he had grown a little. He knew the increased sword practiced to take his skills from above average to never would he rely on his guard, as well as the labour of being a junior soldier, had made its mark on his body. Privately, he liked it. 

He didn’t like it pointed out.

“Come on.” Auguste guided him through the curious courtier with one hand on his shoulder. “I cannot wait for you to meet my son.”  
Laurent kissed the air beside Queen Josefine’s cheek. It was still strange to see her where his mother had last sat. She retrieved the baby from the nursemaid, with Auguste hovering behind, and it was nearly like they were offering him to Laurent with shyly proud smiles.

“Meet your nephew,” Josefine said. “Alexandre Laurent of Vere.”

Laurent didn’t know much about babies. He didn’t know to ascertain who they looked like or what their various cries meant. The child was plump and fair and seemed to be suffering from the same pink-flushed skin that plagued Laurent throughout his life.

“He’s teething. It makes him cranky.” Josefine adjusted her hold of the boy was he squirmed.

“Or else he inherited his uncle’s disagreeable demeanour,” Auguste teased.

Uncle.

The word made Laurent’s stomach roll.

“No.” Laurent forced his voice not to quiver. “I’m quite sure he will take after you, Auguste.” He would be good and kind and free from the … difficulties that had plagued their family. 

“He already snores a little,” Josefine said. “Would you like to hold him?”

“Oh, no.” Laurent backed away. “I wouldn’t want to disturb him.”

He didn’t miss the look that passed between husband and wife, or the careful brightness that infused Auguste’s voice. “Come, brother.” Another hand on his shoulder. “Let’s retire to my office and talk about all we’ve missed.”

-  
Laurent expected updates on the kingdom -- all those nobles, merchants and commoners who gave Auguste so much work to do. He was prepared to give updates on his work to the east and his personal crusades. There was only so much that could be said in a letter.

They came, eventually. But first, Auguste spoke of his annoyance with the council and the entertainments for the banquet and did Laurent know just how hard it was to spend time alone with a wife once a baby was in the picture.

It took a moment for Laurent to fall back into the familiar rhythm of conversing with his brother. It took longer for him to realise that Auguste was speaking to him differently, more like an equal than a young upstart.

“Are you sure there’s no-one else you want to invite to the feast?” Auguste asked.

“It’s for the baby, not me,” Laurent said. “And, no, there is not.”

“No-one? Your comrades from the east? That Guion’s son? I heard you spent —”

“Only to scare the craven shit into submission,” Laurent said. “There’s no-one else.”

Auguste opened his mouth as if to say more, but his guard let his adviser in the room and the council were waiting. 

“I’ll let you get back,” Laurent said.

“Oh, no.” Auguste shook his head. “You are not escaping these talks.”

“You want me to deliver some bad news, don’t you?”

Auguste smiled. “You should be there.”

-  
Council talks were just as boring as anyone could expect. The double-speak felt alien after time spent with more straightforward people. As talk of how to parcel some land between a dead noble’s brothers got particularly personal, Laurent nearly longed for the upfront negotiations he had helmed in Marlas. 

Auguste was gifted at steering the conversation in more appropriate directions. However, he often did so before a conclusion was reached.

He saw Laurent notice and leaned close, “It easier to give the decisions alone later,” he said.

The last matter was of Queen Josefine’s ladies-in-waiting, or more accurately one of their handmaidens who found herself in ‘trouble’. 

“I don’t see the issue,” Laurent said. 

“Your Highness,” Herode began. As a long time friend of their father’s, he was the first to speak up when their was a problem with something Laurent or Auguste said. “She is unwed.”

“And the father?”

“Unknown.”

“That’s bullshit,” Laurent said. “She knows. No girl part of a highborn household would take that risk here.”

“She was adamant.”

“Question the men who have access to the apartments,” Auguste said. “Ask if she’s known to have a suitor.”

“Is she had a suitor this wouldn’t be the issue.”

“Find out who fucked this poor girl and abandoned her,” Laurent said. “Discreetly. There’s every chance it was some lecherous lord instead of some cowardly soldier. If that’s true, I want them to be surprised when I come for them.”

Auguste leaned in again. “I’m glad you’re back, brother.” Council dismissed, Laurent stayed to continue this. “What does Josefine think?”

“This would distress her too much.”

“She’s brought this court to heel and birthed an heir. I wouldn’t worry about her distress,” Laurent said.

“She thinks the maiden should go back to Kempt. It’s different there.”

“If she wants to stay, she should stay.”

Auguste sighed. “What can happen in the outskirts will not be accepted in Arles. I know you’ve been making efforts at the border. I also know, by the way, about those children in Acquitart.”

“We can’t export our problems to Akielos. Why not have an orphanage in our ancestral home?” Laurent did not do well when Auguste stared him down. “As well as that,” he continued. “It stops the flow of people crossing the border, which stops the rumours that they are taking slaves, which —”

“I get it.” Auguste glanced down at his agenda. “I didn’t cover it in the meeting. You know how set in their ways the old councillors are about Akielos.”

“You mean completely prejudiced.”

“My, you have changed,” Auguste said. “I’ve had a lot of communication with Damianos this year. I think his father is stepping back a bit.” 

Laurent said nothing. “He asks about you,” Auguste added. 

“He is polite.”

“You used to say he was a brute. Does he write to you? He was most complimentary about the work you did bringing that agitator to justice last year. Subtle, too, as if he wasn’t sure I knew about it.”

“Are you going somewhere with this?”

“No. Where would I go? Tell me, is there anything you want for your birthday? Please don’t ask for any more laws to be changed. I’m still getting flack for your last gift.”

“You said I could have anything.” Laurent sighed. “No, what could I possibly want?”

-  
Now that there was a new prince, who cooed instead of scowling, interest in Laurent waned slightly. Older court ladies had someone to new to mother from afar. Fresh speculation about what the new member of the royal family could do for Vere was more fun for ambitious nobles and merchants. He had piles of letters to deal with. Letters seemed innocuous until you read them and realised the need for responses and decisions and payments. He insisted on keeping his own correspondence. 

There was nothing from Akielos, as requested.

Laurent quickly fell into routine back at Arles. There was less time for riding but he made time for training. He attended all council meetings. The council did not approve of all his work or opinions but they urged him to be more public about his projects. The Prince had to have an identity other than attractive and unapproachable, Chelaut suggested, so why not have him be a man of the people? The one who cared for peasants and protected orphans. Auguste nodded, agreeably.

“I’ll consider it,” Laurent said. He’d never considered anything of the sort before. He wasn’t looking for approval. But for all that he was said to be aloof, that did not stop the least desirable of the nobility approaching him. He’d forgotten the games Auguste had quashed when Laurent was younger. What better sport was there than trying to get reserved, frigid Laurent into bed? The more he resisted, the more determined they grew. The older he got, the more people thought he had some kind of defect. Even his own brother had subtly spoken of pets.  
Laurent had not so subtly told him to fuck off.

At the banquet, there would no doubt be an onslaught of would-be lovers for him to dismiss. They’d be bolder now. And less respectful now he had moved down the line to the throne. 

No wonder he wanted to stay in the far flung corners of Varennes. 

-

Personal correspondence at breakfast. Private correspondence in the royal chambers. That’s how their father did it. That’s how Auguste did it, too.

“Don’t you mind?” Laurent asked Josefine, because he was still peeved that Auguste had ordered him in here. “Surely he should read when you and the baby are elsewhere.”

“The King can read wherever he likes,” Auguste said, over the top of a sheet of paper.

“We have private rooms for private times,” Josefine replied. Laurent regretted the line of questioning. “Even married couples cannot talk all the time.”

Laurent wondered what was the point of marriage if your partner did not give you their undivided attention. Until he looked up from his scone and saw the easy way Auguste read his letters and Josefine passed him the marmalade without being asked. 

“How is the child?” Laurent asked, with a look towards the baby fussing on Josefine’s lap. 

“Well.” Her eyes twinkled. “As you can see.”

“I read that by this age he should be crawling.”

“All in his own good time,” Auguste said. 

“Take him,” Josefine said.

“Where?”

She rose and offered Laurent the child. Laurent blinked and looked for an escape. Auguste did not rescue him from this. Take the child into his arms or let him land among the porridge. Those were his options. Babies could be bathed, he thought, even as he reached for the baby.

“It’s easier once they get to this age,” Josefine prattled on, as Laurent felt the slight weight in his hands. How could someone be so delicate and so robust at once? “You no longer need to worry about supporting the head. Watch your clothing though. He’s got mush on his hands.”

Wonderful.

Laurent didn’t know what to with Alexandre. Sitting him on his lap felt wrong. Cradling him in the crook of his arm felt like something for a smaller baby. The child twisted, and Laurent prepared for him to cry, but he just squirmed himself around until his head was resting on Laurent’s shoulder.

“He’s tired again,” Josefine said. “The young prince has been up since five this morning.”

“As have we,” said Auguste.

His breath was warm and the little body a pleasant pressure. It was likely there was mush of unknown origin on Laurent’s clean jacket. 

He didn’t mind.

_The young prince._

A title that was no longer his own.

Laurent smiled down at the baby. 

At his nephew.

“Oh,” said Auguste. Laurent flushed and waited for his brother to make some comment about the fact he was finally interacting with Alexandre. “This one bears the seal of Damianos of Akielos.”

“I think he’s getting cranky,” Laurent said to Josefine. 

“He’s only as comfortable as that when he’s at my breast,” she said. Laurent choked on air. He’d heard whispers that his brother’s wife had refused to make use of the traditional wet nurse but it was another thing all together to have it brought up over breakfast. “He knows you’re his blood, Laurent.”

“I suppose I should have known there’d be a letter, too,” Auguste was saying from the head of the table, as his knife cut through the edge of the seal. Laurent could see the red wax and on it the familiar lion. 

That damn lion haunted his dreams.

“Too?”

“I’ll read it aloud,” Auguste said. 

“It’s personal…”

“Yes. Which is less private that state matters now and you know it.” Auguste cleared his throat.

Laurent made himself keep his back straight. He rather wanted to sink down in his chair. He hoped his they’d noticed the heat under his skin before Auguste mentioned the letter. He was burning now. 

_“To Auguste, King of Vere from Damianos V, Crown Prince of Akielos,”_ Auguste began.

“Formal, isn’t he?” Laurent interrupted. “Perhaps…”

“That is his way,” Auguste said. “Don’t interrupt me.”

“Because you’re King?”

“And your older brother.”

Absently, Laurent stroked the baby’s back. He thought of all the letters Damen and Auguste had exchanged. He imagined Damen sat at a big marble desk with the waves crashing and the careful way he would press the nib into the fine paper so not to smudge the ink or break the quill.

_“I hope this letter finds you and your family well,” Auguste continued. “Please allow me to express my congratulations at the birth of your son once again. A new heir is a wonderful thing for your country and I am sure a new son is wonderful thing for you and Queen Josefine. I do hope your wife doesn’t confiscate our gift. I also hope you know it is sent in peace with the thought behind it that I would be honoured to recieve the same if I was to have a son. I hope —”_

“What did he send?”

“Look.” Josefine pointed to the sideboard where, among the breakfast things and other letters, sat a small steel sword with a red tag tied to the pommel. 

“How typical.” Laurent tried to sound scathing.

_“I hope,”_ Auguste was stern now. _“That neither your son nor my new nephew ever has reason to raise their swords towards each other. The palace here is quite besotted with the boy as I am sure the palace at Arles is with yours. Now that my father’s other son Kastor has departed for fairer pastures with his wife, we are all taking turns playing nursemaid. The gardens are empty now, so he will even have even more space than I did to run about the palace. It is good that the reports from the border have been so much more peaceful, lately. We can enjoy this time here. We’ll talk about the Vaskian raiders in an official letter.”_ Auguste huffed. “There is nothing to talk about.”

“We might stop bribing them,” Laurent said. The baby was breathing fast against him now, on the verge of sleep. His fat little fingers were curled in his collar. He imagined Damen, who was so much larger, holding his brother’s child like that. Somehow he’d been kind enough not to kill the bastard betrayer. He’d kept the news from leaking, that Kastor had been behind the agitation. Well, Laurent was the only other one who knew.

“And have them in our villages, no thank you,” Auguste said.

“I could —” Laurent stopped. He wanted to hear the rest of the letter to see if Damen had written his name. “Go on,” he said.

_“Please say hello to your brother for me. Tell him —”_ Auguste’s fair eye brows pulled together, making the faint lines on his forehead deep. 

“Tell me what?”

_“Tell him the nights are clear here as Spring arrives. I can see The Drops from the balcony and Intacta was visible at the equinox. Tell Laurent I still think about killing him slowly.”_

“Did that man just threaten our brother?” Josefine demanded. “Auguste you cannot…”

“No,” said Laurent. “No. He wasn’t talking about me.”

A slow smile was spreading on his face. A slow sense of warmth spread outwards in his chest.

“Who then?” 

“No-one that matters,” Laurent replied. “What else did he say?”

“That’s it.” Auguste handed over the letters as proof. 

I must end this letter here as I am late for morning meeting . I will write again soon. Damianos.

He didn’t tell Auguste to call him Damen.  
-

Orlant said, in the private training arena, “You’ve never been so quick, your highness.”

“I’ve never been so old,” Laurent replied. “Or experienced.”

“Ah, yes. Would you like to tell me again about how you and Prince Damianos defeated two bands of Vaskian bandits,” Orlant said, and if his lip moved a millimeter he would be smirking, 

“Would you like an afternoon in the stocks? I do not tolerate impudence, soldier.”

“You heard worse in that battalion.” With his head lowered respectfully. Or perhaps so Laurent couldn’t see the smirk now.  
Laurent forced him back down the arena. The good thing about those low born manners was that Orlant always fought back. “Did you miss me?”

“Missed the chance to fight you fairly, Your Highness.”

“You’re getting it now.” With a sequence he had just learned that had Orlant scrambling to keep hold of his weapon. “And, no, I didn’t hear much worse among that battalion. The nobility are far more imaginative with their vulgarity.”

He thought to himself, Damen would approve of this technique, when he should have been proud of how quickly he disarmed Orlant.

An attendant brought water garnished with slices of fruit. 

Wasteful. 

Auguste entered, along with his guard and trailing admirers, and Laurent finished his water. Auguste was firmly ensconced among the trappings of Kingship. There was his guard — the best and brightest young men in the land. His advisers, the smartest. The dog that glued itself to his heels was the best of any litter.

“Now,” said Laurent. “If you mean to conclude your meetings here I really will object.”

Auguste inspected the weapon stand. “I thought we could go a few rounds, little brother. See if I was right to allow your absence these last months.”

“Would you have denied me?”

“No,” said Auguste. “I simply missed you. Who else would tell me my moustache looks stupid.”

“It does look stupid,” Laurent said. “I’ve seen better on boys in —” The words felt wrong suddenly, like they weren’t his to say.

“Short trousers? That’s what Josefine says, too. And that it tickles.”

“Spare me, please.” Laurent smiled at his brother. He had missed him, too. He felt it deepest when he first crossed back into Vere as that was the only loneliness he would allow himself feel. He felt it in an impersonal way as he navigated nobility with bites and smiles, determinedly snuffing out any remaining traces of that Vaskian agitator. Auguste would know what to do.

Laurent did not.

He felt it acutely when the country stopped all to celebrate the birth of the new heir. His eyes had been wet, with joy and boyish jealousy and distaste for himself. 

The birth celebrations had felt like as good a time as any to begin to implement the new policy re unwed births. Laurent had thought the buoyant spirit caused by the new prince would foster generosity towards any unfortunate infants born outside the marraige bed. 

It hadn’t quite worked like that.

“You cannot change generations of culture over night,” Auguste had said. Laurent had known that. “And we have more pressing matters.”

But Laurent had known the threat of war was lifted, as long as they kept the border in line, though he did not tell his brother just how he knew.

Auguste had said, “Why is this suddenly so important to you?”

“It is fair and just,” Laurent replied and Auguste, knowing him, accepted that. He could not say the other truth — he thought Damianos would approve. 

He and Auguste never fought seriously. It was an unspoken understanding between them that harked back to Auguste always seeing himself as older and stronger (he was both of those things) and Laurent never quite being able to look at his brother with anything but awe. He wondered if the bastard Kastor fought Damen seriously and guess that he had. 

“There was another letter from Akielos with the official correspondence,” Auguste said, after dismissing his guard to the edges of the arena. He was never truly alone. Even stretching to prepare to spar with his younger brother. 

Laurent composed himself. He wondered if the fact that Akielos was on his mind was evident on his face.

“The King apologising for his son’s crass gift?” Laurent asked. There. That was normal.

“No, the Crown Prince still,” Auguste said. “You know, I’ve heard from our friends in Kempt and Vask that the King is taking less and less responsibility these days.”

“He means to retire,” Laurent said, without thinking. Auguste blinked. “Or so I guess. Perhaps his health is failing. Anyway, what did Damianos want officially. Is he raising the price of olives again?”

“No. Are you ready?” Auguste raised his sword. Laurent avoided it, rather than meet it. “He, well, he invited himself to the palace.”

“This palace?” Laurent froze, and Auguste pulled back just in time.

“No. The great palace of the Vaskian Empress. He wants to see the leopards.” 

Laurent found his footing again and pulled Auguste into a simple maneuver, one they’d both learned as boys. 

“One cannot just invite themselves to a foreign country,” Laurent said.

“You can see the letter,” Auguste replied, twirling, dodging just as Laurent almost had him at the edge of the circle. “He heard we combining the baby’s first official appearance with your birthday and wished to attend.”

“For what reason?”

“As you know, brother, wanting is enough for a prince.” Auguste paused, then, as Laurent remembered one of his new moves that made his brother at least have to concentrate. “You didn’t learn that with the battalion,” he said. 

“I am sure I did.”

“Do you object?”

“You are King. He is the future King. You do what you wish.”

“Laurent, I want your thoughts on this.”

Laurent thought of how they had parted and was glad of the sword in hand or else he might have brought his fingers to his lips. It was different for Damen. The slaves, the wrestler, the ease with which he took lovers. He had probably kissed many people since.

_People you will never see again._

Maybe was Laurent was not the same person as he had been.

_The gardens are empty_ — research had taught Laurent that the slaves quarters were called gardens in Ios.

“I don’t object,” Laurent said. 

He wasn’t sure if that was worse than raising an objection, so he raised his sword instead.

-

In the days before the banquet, the palace unbearable. Half of Vere had come to pay tribute to the new prince and the other half had stopped working, knowing the highest ranking nobles were distracted. Laurent had little of substance to distract him and couldn’t take two steps without bumping to someone he did not want to see.

On a bright afternoon, the day before the banquet, Laurent went riding outside the palace walls. The whip of air was a relief from the claustrophobic corridors of the palace. He could find a place to calm his brain, away from the pomp and ceremony of royal life. It was a leisurely, solitary activity taking him up low hilltops and Laurent was relaxed until he saw the red flags on the path below.

For a second, he was fourteen again and surrounded by his uncle’s retinue. 

Reality wasn’t much more comforting.

They were the flags of Akielos and even from this distance Laurent could make out Damianos on his massive horse. Laurent knew he was invited. He’d agreed to it, telling himself he didn’t care one way or another. But the distance between Arles and Ios was substantial and it wasn’t clear that the message would arrive in time for him to make the journey.

There’d been no confirmation.

But here he was, enemy-prince approaching the palace without a care in the world. 

Laurent could have pushed his horse into sprint and made it to the north courtyard before Damianos. But he didn’t want to arrive red-faced and panting. He calmed his horse and waited. Auguste was King. It was his place to greet a visiting dignitary. Damianos had heeded Laurent’s request not to write. He was used to bonding with people and then discarding them. It didn’t matter what his letter said. Laurent didn’t care.

-

In order to go riding without a trail of worrying guards, Laurent gave precise times for his coming and going. He couldn’t dally on the hillside forever. He still didn’t like being out there alone unless he was moving. Back at the palace, he tended to the horse himself rather than pass it off to one of the stablehands. Every person, from servant to lord, was twittering about the arrival of Damianos. Laurent let it all wash over him. It was to be expected. 

Until he heard _king-killer_ said with real venom, and found himself stalking out of the stall.

“Do not insult any guest of the crown,” he said, “or spread stories the King has already deemed false. You won’t like it if I have to say this twice.”  
Laurent looked around the small gathering of men of all ranks. “Do make that clear to the rest of the pea-brains of this place, please.”

He knew by their faces he had gotten his message across.

Auguste’s men were waiting to escort Laurent to the throne room. 

“What exactly did the King say?” 

“To inform the Prince that he was in the throne room.” 

Laurent didn’t see any order there, so continued on his way. “I’m going to wash the smell of horse away first,” he said. “My brother will understand.”

There. He had avoided any official meeting with the visiting prince. Laurent didn’t think he could bear standing beside his brother’s throne and making pleasantries with the man he had shared so much of himself with. So he busied himself with washing and grooming and dressing for the evening. Gifts were piling up in the outer-chambers of his room. To be polite, and not annoy Auguste, it was necessary to go through them now so he could thank the giver at the banquet. Laurent flipped through the tags, seeing nothing of interest, until Auguste’s men arrived at his door this time with a direct order for Laurent to go down to the hall.

Laurent went, with his pulse pounding in his ears.

He saw no sign of Akielon people at the edges of the crowd as he made his way to the dais. Auguste was sitting, relaxed as ever, with Josefine by his side. How lucky, Laurent thought, to have someone by your side. 

“Good evening.” Laurent took his less ornate seat to the right of the throne.

“Laurent. Excellent. You’re just in time to greet our guest of honour.”

“Alexandre and I are right here. I don’t know who you mean.”

“Damianos of Akielos has arrived,” Auguste said. “He was in Sicyon to recieve our invite and came immediately by boat. Radal nearly died of  
shock when Damianos rode up with only a small honour guard this afternoon. I haven’t seen him yet.”

“That seems remiss, diplomatically speaking. He and Nikandros met me in the courtyard when I visited Marlas.” Laurent accepted some wine from a servant. He even sipped it. There was nothing else to say. The room was growing quiet, charged; the crowd parting, and Damianos approached.

Laurent hadn’t forgotten anything about him but seeing it in person was different. Damianos walked with such confidence anyone would get out of his way. Each curl in his dark hair shone in the candlelight and he was dressed, to Laurent’s amusement, in a simplified version of Veretian clothing. The jacket was plain, with less lacing, and the boots were shorter on his legs. It was cut impeccably, highlighting the unfair scale and proportion of his physique. 

He smiled, warm and open, as he approached then schooled his face as if remembering this was actually a momentous occasion between two enemy nations. The last time Damianos and Auguste faced each other, they were ending a war. For the Akielon heir to come to Arles with a small guard and an unarmoured body was a grand show of trust indeed. He must really be taking over from his father, Laurent thought. Theomedes would not have allowed this before.

The smile made Laurent’s heart flip. 

As Auguste was pushing up off his throne, and greeting Damianos like they were old friends, Laurent tried to recall the humiliating feeling of being given the same pin as a slave in that small canvas tent beyond the border. The moment was easy to see, but the feeling was long gone.  
He remained seated as Damianos was introduced to Josefine and Alexandre, noting distantly how natural he came across despite being intently observed by almost every important person in Vere. 

“Of course, you’ve met Laurent before,” Auguste said, causing a ripple of chatter to bloom out through the hall. That was not common knowledge, then.

“Welcome to Arles.” Laurent did not get up. 

“Thank you.” Damianos caught his gaze, and held it, as he bowed at the waist in front of Laurent’s seat. The ripple of chatter became a tidal wave. There was absolutely no need for a visiting prince, especially a future king, to bow for the third in line to the throne. “It’s good to see you again, Laurent.”

“Thank you,” Laurent said. Damianos cocked his head, apparently amused. “All right.” Sighing. “It’s good to see you, too.”

And that part was over. There were noblemen and councillors and a huge amount of generals who all wanted to meet Damen. There were gifts presented, carried by Damen’s slightly annoyed soldiers, to Auguste and Josefine and Alexandre. Akielon delicacies, books and a set of throwing knives that made Auguste’s eyes light up. Perhaps Damen could give him lessons. He was very good a throwing weapons. 

From one royal family to another. Laurent was on the fringes now, and that was fine with him. 

Lastly, one for Laurent. His heart stuttered a little but evened out when he saw the gift was simply a quill and inkpot. It was good quality and perfectly benign. 

It was painful, considering Laurent’s last meeting with Damen had him refusing to ever write to him. 

“You don’t have to keep me company,” Josefine said, softly, while Auguste showed Damen around. There was a burst of laughter as the men recalled some of the battles in Delfeur, no thought given to the fact they had been battling each other. “I can beckon my ladies.” Alexandre had been brought to the nursery, along with his many guards.

“If I leave, I’ll get swamped by awful men who want to —” He caught himself just in time. “Woo me.”

“Into bed? I’m aware of the bets.”

“What’s it gone up to this year?”

“More than most of those idiots could afford to pay out.” Sometimes Laurent could see why Auguste was so smitten with his wife.

Smiling, he said, “Did you lay a stake?”

“A well born lady never gambles,” she replied. “But I know where I would put my money.”

“I meant to talk to you about something.” Swiftly changing the subject. “The handmaiden who —”

“Is no longer a maiden? Auguste was afraid such talk my offend my delicate sensibilities. He said you think she should stay. One my ladies thinks we should find a dead soldier with a mother in need of money and say they were married in secret.”

“What does the Queen think?”

“She’s the only one who does a good job on Oona’s fine hair,” Josefine said. “And I want Alexandre to be King of a tolerant country. He could have a playmate.”

That was more than Laurent expected and he smiled again at Josefine. “It’s never the child’s fault,” he said. “You should come to the next council meeting.”

“I’d rather have her do my hair for the banquet tomorrow. There’s more than one way to send a message.”

-  
Laurent had told Damen there was nothing between them. He had good reason to feel like that, then. He also several months during which to initiate contact and chose not to. He liked that Damen respected his boundaries.

So why did it hurt that Damen spent the rest of the night charming Veretian nobility and joking around with Auguste like they were long lost  
brothers? It was probably nice for both of them to speak with someone equal in rank. Certainly by the raucous laughter coming from the balconies, they had plenty in common. Laurent could have left the dais. But there was no need. Refreshments were brought to him. The few tolerable people at court - Herode, Vannes and Estienne - came by to see him. And he could not abandon Josefine (though she eventually abandoned him.)

He was sitting alone when Damen returned. There was no official seat for him, despite his status, but Laurent waved him up and nodded towards the Queen’s chair. That was fine. 

Damen angled it towards Laurent as if it weighed nothing.

Laurent tried not to stare.

“You really don’t like parties,” Damen stated.

“Not of this size,” Laurent admitted. “Not when if I leave the table the sharks start circling.”

“Hmm. Do you wish for me to scare some away? I’ve been told I can be quite intimidating.”

“I can do that myself.”

“But do you want me to?” 

Laurent had no response. “If I had my way, I’d still be repelling bandits in Varennes. Auguste ordered me home for this.”

Damen looked proud. “You joined up.”

“Yes. After —”

“Restoring my good name.”

“Something like that.”

“I did want to thank you for that. And as time went by, and no-one knew the truth, I wanted to thank you even more,” Damen said. “But you made your feelings on that clear.”

“Time went on and I expected to hear gossip about —”

“No, you didn’t,” Damen said. That was true. Laurent feared, but did not anticipate, that Damen would give his worst secrets up for public consumption. 

“What do you think of Arles?” Laurent asked, forcing brightness into his voice. 

“It’s…” Damen looked around the hall, taking in the intricate arches and elaborate tapestries. He looked back at Laurent. “Likely to make me  
dizzy if I look too much. My word, Laurent, is all that decoration necessary?”

Laurent smiled. Again. “We value finesse,” he said. “A lot of time and talent went into those details, you know.”

He didn’t think it would feel like this — easy and warm — despite the onlookers and the strangeness of the situation. Perhaps he should have known. He said as much to Damen after all — kiss and get on with your life. It need not be a big deal. 

It shouldn’t have haunted Laurent’s dreams and days these past months.

“I think those artists fooled you, to be honest,” Damen continued. “So many details it makes the head spin. You’d never spot a mistake. Unlike —”

“Ios. Where everything is chiselled perfection. Believe me when I say I have an eye for minute details.”

“I can imagine.”

Laurent said, “You got here very quickly after I allowed Auguste to extend the invite.”

“Allowed? I don’t think anyone allows a king to do anything.”

“I’m not anyone,” Laurent said.

“I was…optimistic about his response,” Damen said. “It’s a new era for our countries.”

Before Laurent could respond, Auguste whisking Damen away to see some new Veretian spears. Laurent could have gone, too, but he didn’t know how to be at ease among back-slapping men. Back in his room, he went through the gifts again. Nothing had changed. Nothing for him. 

The bow was nothing.

Damen was here to maintain peace between their countries, just as Laurent had requested.

-

Even if he hadn’t a keen interest in the stables, Laurent would have heard about the gift. The entire castle knew. Damianos had brought two prize horses for the King and Queen, the best of Akielon stock. It had taken them longer to arrive but now that they were here, well Jean had rarely seen a finer specimen. 

Laurent saw the shine on their coats, the quality of their gait, the obvious health and knew Jean was correct in his assessment. Damen was generous in his gift. He had to have known, from the reputation and their time on the road, that Laurent treasured horses. 

But there was none for him.

And it hurt.

He meant to ride alone before it was time to get ready for the banquet. Alexandre had been presented to the council and daubed with the sacred oil and marked in the statue books that morning. Auguste and Josefine had stood with him on one of the balconies and the crowd below swooned. Outside the palace walls, were festivities and sweet treats courtesy of the palace. 

Laurent had time to ride but the sight of the gifted horses brought on a headache. Perhaps a nap, followed by a bath. That’s what people expected from the younger prince. But he didn’t make it that far. Josefine caught him and made him accompany her to the amphitheatre.   
Hadn’t he heard? Auguste and Damianos were going to fight?

“…you know how he gets and — Laurent?”

“Fight? With swords?”

“I doubt the king’s taken up naked oil wrestling,” she replied.

“You should have stopped him.” 

Her ladies drew back. Josefine did not react well to his tone of voice.

“Please don’t speak to me so harshly,” she said.

“Forgive me. I worry,” Laurent said. “You’ve never seen Damianos fight.”

It felt like half of Arles had gathered for the chance to see Damianos fight. Everything about the future King of Akielos screamed fighter. That was before you heard a secondhand account. Auguste’s skill was unparalleled…in Vere. Since he took the throne, he’d kept up his training regimen but hardly had seen a real fight. 

The crowd were hot for a fight. Boredom did that to courtiers, especially since Auguste and Josefine had outlawed the seedier uses for this amphitheatre. More than that, everyone was eager for the fight that never happened at Marlas. They wanted to see Auguste triumph. They wanted to see Damen lose. 

Laurent didn’t know what he wanted.

Veretians hated Akielos. Half these people believed Damen responsible for the death of the last king.

And Auguste and Damen were grinning in the centre of the sawdust like they were alone on a practise field. There were warm ups, trick-moves, and some display fights courtesy of the prince’s guards. Jord was there, showing off a series of blows that were distinctly Akielon which made Damen raise his eyebrows and seek out Laurent in the crowd.

“He won’t do anything dangerous,” Josefine said, like she was convincing herself. “I would kill him.”

“They’ll hate him, though,” Laurent was saying and the starting gong went off. 

Auguste and Damen grinned through the first engagement. And the second. And the third. They were well-matched, each knowing instinctively how and when to use their skills. For any casual observer, any admirer of swordwork, the fight was a treat to watch. The elite guards were all leaning forward on their feet for a better look. The crowd were blandly entertained.

Laurent saw the moment Auguste took it more seriously. It was when Damen avoided a blow specifically created to counteract Akielon tactics.   
He pre-empted a pre-empt, and used his considerable strength to knock Auguste’s arm back. 

They were fighting two-handed now. Auguste determined, Damen confident. The crowd got a little more excited. The clashes got louder and you could see their exertion. Cheers from Auguste’s supporters. That was fine. Jeers at Damianos that were unequivocally not fine. 

Laurent nodded at some guards to deal with it. They dispersed as Auguste was saying something to Damianos Laurent could not make out. It was not Auguste’s nature to antagonise an opponent. He believed in fair play. 

Perhaps Laurent underestimated how much he wanted to win.

As Auguste spoke, something changed in Damen’s face. His mouth moved and the words had to have been hissed, such was the ferocity behind his expression. The fight continued with a new zeal that made Laurent truly uneasy. Damen used his strength to push Auguste to the edge of the ring. Auguste used his twisty skill to turn it around, push him back, but he was parrying blow after blow, hardly getting to make any of his own.

The crowd did not like this.

The good thing about Damen was that he didn’t drag it out. Three strikes at most had Auguste bending his knees so much to retain his sword and his balance he was at a clear disadvantage. His hair was dark with sweat. His guard were nervous.

Auguste managed to stand straight and draw back his sword, while Damen was fixing his grip for the final blow. Auguste’s sword sliced towards Damen, who side-stepped and used the lapse in position to get inside Auguste’s guard. The sword was useless with Damen too close to his arms to swing them. Neatly, Damen put pressure on the sword, just above the hilt, until Auguste had to drop it or have his wrist snapped.

Damen kicked the sword away, kicking up dust, as his blade pointed at Auguste’s neck.

“Yield?” 

Auguste grinned, nodded, and no-one was more surprised than Laurent when his brother pulled the Prince of Akielos into a friendly embrace.

“A worthy winner!” Auguste called to the unsure crowd. There was none of expected humiliation or resentment from the King. There was no boasting from Damen. 

It was as if they enjoyed the challenge.

As Josefine lead the applause, Laurent felt as if he would never understand other men.

As Damen and Auguste made their way towards the royal viewing area, Laurent felt as if the ground might swallow him up. There was something disarmingly determined about Damen’s face. They’d fought at Marlas. Laurent was better now. 

That was before they’d kissed. He didn’t know if he’d be better able to fight now.

“Dare I ask for you to come into the ring next?” Damen said in Akielon. 

“Don’t make me publicly refuse you.”

“All right.” Damen stood tall and looked around, enough to make sure all eyes were on him. “I dedicate my win to His Royal Highness, Laurent of Vere, on the occasion of the celebration of his birth.” With a slight flourish, which to an Akielon would be a massive flourish, Damen planted his sword into the ground at Laurent’s feet.

There was nothing in his etiquette lessons about how to reach when a foreign prince publicly declares that he beat your brother for you.  
Laurent maintained his relaxed posture, his neutral expression, and because everyone was watching he wouldn’t even allow himself to glance at Auguste for guidance.

“Thank you,” he managed to say. Damen nodded, light in his eyes, and his guard Atkis prepared to engage in a spear-throwing competition with one of Auguste’s men and that distracted the crowd. Laurent rose to take his leave while Damen was casually insulted the King’s Guard and no-one batted an eyelid. From king-killer to this with a few smiles and sword strokes.

His footsteps echoed in the empty courtyard. The hall that lead to his apartments felt endless, until a second set of footsteps rang out behind him. With a twist in his chest, Laurent realised he recognised those footsteps.

“This isn’t the way to your quarters, Damen,” he said.

“This palace is so confusing. I must have got turned around.”

“Turn back around the way you came,” Laurent said, as he slowed to allow Damen to catch him. People would talk, if they saw him here. People were probably already talking. Typically, Damen acted as everything he did was appropriate and smiled another easy smile at Laurent. 

“Have I offended you?”

“Not lately.” Laurent leaned one shoulder against the tiled wall. “Though that stunt before was close. Honestly, it makes Akielos look cheap.”

“Cheap?” Sounding amused, as he leaned against the wall too. “I’ve been very generous here.”

“I saw the horses. The books. Generous indeed.” To everyone else.

“And did you like my gift?”

“I — I’ve gotten so many I can’t keep track. I don’t think I’ve seen it.” He didn’t think Damen had gotten him anything.

“You’ll know it when you see it, I hope.” Damen smiled again. There was dust on his forehead, and it somehow looked good on him. “I hope you like it. I know you wouldn’t appreciate being showered with meaningless trinkets,” he continued. “So I thought it best to direct my attention towards your family.”

Laurent’s heart was racing. That happened a lot, around Damen. 

“I was quite awful to you that last night,” he said. 

“I was quite thoughtless,” Damen replied. “The mare who birthed the horse we gave Auguste is due to foal soon.”

“There’s —” Laurent raised his hand, thinking of all the careful ways Damen had communicated his actions around him. Damen lowered his head, like he knew what Laurent was thinking. His eyes flickered closed as Laurent brushed his thumb across the dust on his face. “Got it,” he said. He thought of how easy it had been to be honest when it was just the two of them in the road. “Are you…is this…”

“Go ahead. Scold me. It seems I’ve been doing a bad job of courting you,” Damen said. “You can tell me, of course, to back off but —”

“Don’t,” Laurent said. 

The easy smiled turned into a grin. Laurent noticed the thin lines around Damen’s eyes. He never thought that was something he would notice   
and like. 

“See you at the party, Laurent.” Damen walked backwards down the hallway. 

“Watch the rugs,” Laurent called after him. 

In his room, he prepared to make another inventory of his gifts. 

But there was no need.

Damen’s was obvious, not only because it was larger than all the rest.

Framed in gold, exquisitely rendered in the finest oil paints; a gleaming, shining picture of the stars. 

“Oh,” said Laurent, alone in the room. “Oh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two more chapters to go! all going well, this will be wrapped up before the new year. also, look out for a new xmas themed fic coming your way very very soon! thanks for reading/commenting/being the best readers.


	14. Chapter 14

Dressing took over an hour. That was not unusual. Laurent knew to be patient. (He also knew not to complain in front of Queen Josefine as the clothing for women was even more elaborate and that was before you even considered their hairstyles.) 

Tonight, though, Laurent was impatient. He twitched and made his servant knot the laces. He kept looking at the clock. Considering the packed schedule of the day, the banquet was due to start late and finish late. That was the Veretian way. It was well dark and Alexandre was well settled in the nursery by the time Laurent made his entrance. He sat to Auguste’s left as always and smiled benignly at the toast raised in his honour.

His heart skipped a beat when the servants brought Damen to sit directly across from him.

They gazed at each other.

“I feel a little bit exposed with my back to the room,” Damen said, in that jovial way he had of including everyone. Laurent wondered if he could sent the rest of the table away. Probably not. 

“Perhaps if you wore more clothing,” Laurent said. Damen was resplendent in traditional Akielon dress this evening. It exposed much more skin than anything that existed in Veretian fashion. 

“Don’t worry,” Auguste said. “I can see everything.” 

There feast involved fifteen courses, seventeen if you included palate cleansers, and Laurent would be sitting across from Damen for all of them. 

As the second top-up was poured, the table took on easy conversation and Laurent’s pulse slowed to a reasonable pace. 

“You and I need to have a conversation,” Auguste said to Laurent, quietly.

“Go ahead. You have my permission.”

“The King has your permission?”

“Yes.”

Auguste huffed. 

Servants presented them with a salad dressed with nuts and berries. 

Laurent thought about what Damen’s mouth would look like stained red. It was all right to think of such things now that he knew Damen had been subtly showing interest these few days. Or not so subtly, considering the bow and the dedication of the win. Every time Laurent looked too long at Damen, Lady Vannes tried to catch his eye. Well, her pet Talik was engaged in lively debate about wrestling with Damen. And Estienne, he would have elbowed Laurent’s ribs should Laurent not have been his prince. 

“What entertainments do you have?” Damen asked across the table.

“Whatever the court thinks will please me.” Laurent was proud of himself for not making some remark about Damen not researching Vere more  
before his visit.

Damen blinked at him, like maybe he was dismissing his first response too. “I’ve heard the amusements at your court can be somewhat scandalous.”

“Not in my experience,” offered Vannes. “Unfortunately.”

“I’ve heard the younger prince is too frigid to enjoy such shows,” Laurent said. “They are quite tame.”

“At New Year’s we had belly dancers,” said Auguste.

“Exactly,” muttered Vannes. “The women in Akielos go topless, slaves naked. I think sometimes I am ambassador to the wrong court.”

“The slaves don’t go naked anymore,” Damen said, in a serious tone of voice. 

The lights were lowered, then. 

“This is the first act,” said Josefine, who’d been more interested in talking to her ladies until now. “I chose it.”

Damen twisted in his seat. 

“You’ll damage your neck,” Laurent said.

“A round in the ring with the best fighter in Vere couldn’t damage him,” Auguste said. “He’ll survive.”

“The size of him. He’ll obscure my view.”

“Perhaps you should put a cushion on your chair,” said Damen.

“Come around to this side of the table.” Laurent shifted his chair to make room and a pair of servants shoved a spare chair in the space. 

“This is closer than your custom usually allows.” Damen’s knee was pressed against Laurent’s. His breath tickled his neck. 

“Hush. They’re starting.”

They were a troupe of lithe ladies and men, perhaps pets or traveling performers, who used silks and flames to tell a story in the centre of the ballroom. It was risque because of the fluidity of the movement, the ease with which they brushed up against each other. Or perhaps it was perfectly banal and Laurent was simply influenced by Damen’s proximity. His thigh was touching Laurent’s, strong and firm, and his scent of soap and steam was everywhere. 

“I thought you might be angry,” Damen murmured.

“Why?”

“You often are angry at me. Then you come around. After what I said…”

“I’ve had several months to come around.” Laurent turned his head to the side. “I liked the painting. Very much. Why didn’t you leave a note with it?”

“I didn’t need to.”

The performance was reaching a crescendo, and Laurent could sense the tension in the room at whatever was happening on the floor. He made himself look, and saw there were people suspended with silks from the rafters now moving as if they were underwater. Below, some were dancing with fire and others were swallowing it or blowing it up towards the acrobats.

Probably, this had taken months of preparations and years of skill.

Laurent knew he should pay more attention.

He looked back to Damen, who wasn’t paying the performance any attention either.

“Laurent?”

“Yes.”

“I think your brother’s planning to kill me.”

“Oh, dear. Thanks heavens I’m in the way.” Smiling, as the lights went on and the court clapped and several anxious performers were looking up  
at their prince. The cold, difficult to please prince. 

Laurent stood, clapped neatly, and inclined his head to acknowledge their show. The court applauded louder, knowing now it was something to  
be really celebrated. Damen went back to his seat. 

Even Estienne looked slightly dazed when he left.

The next course was game, which Laurent cared for more as a prize than to eat but he nibbled politely. Damen chatted away about hunting in the area and how it differed to all the various parts of Akielos he had hunted. There was a light on his face as he told them about some estate he visited with his father for holidays and brief darkness at the mention of his brother.

One of Laurent’s men approached, and informed him regretfully that there was a new arrival here to see him. 

“Most people are here to see me.”

“Jord said I should tell you. His name is Hugo.”

“Bring him in.” Laurent turned to Auguste. “My bunkmate from the troop.” Across the table, Damen’s head snapped up. “I thought I might make  
him part of my guard.”

“That’s nice,” Auguste said. He’d always had concerns about Laurent’s ability to make friends. 

“He’s an orphan,” Laurent continued.

“I see.” With a warning tone to his voice. Societal change was well and good but not in the middle of a royal banquet, apparently. Laurent could  
still see Damen watching. 

“They all call themselves orphans,” he said.

“Who?” Estienne asked.

“Bastards.” Laurent looked up to greet a very nervous looking Hugo. Who was now being stared at by the rest of the table. 

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” Hugo stammered out. “I didn’t wish to interrupt your meal I just…”

“Nonsense.” There was still space beside Laurent from where Damen had been. “Sit. Eat something. How was your journey?”

“No, I —”

“You can’t refuse your prince,” Laurent said. “And if you make it into my guard, there’ll be no disobeying orders. Sit.”

Trembling, Hugo the boy who’d shoved Laurent into the dirt during training, sat at the royal table and accepted some fish and vegetables. 

“Don’t be cruel,” Damen said in Akielon. “For a common soldier, this…”

Laurent hadn’t intended to be cruel. He was trying to make changes. But he understood what Damen meant and decided against introducing Hugo to the King. Hugo had lost the ability to speak anyway and getting conversation out of him was like getting blood out of a stone. He’d learn to get used to the palace. Laurent would bring such small changes, like putting a bastard in a position of trust. But first, he’d tell Hugo to rest (which would probably mean getting drunk in the mess hall) and make sure Jord kept a close on him.

“I mean for things to be different,” Laurent explained, once Hugo skittered away.

“I’m glad.” Damen smiled. Auguste stared. “Tell me,” Damen continued. “Are there other entertainments planned?”

“I did mention a magician,” Auguste said.

“Until I reminded him I’m no longer nine years old.”

“I’m quite sure you were fifteen when you ordered all those written guides to tricks and magic,” Auguste replied.

“There’s music and dancing, later.” Laurent nipped the embarrassing conversation in the bud. 

“What sort of dancing?” Damen placed his forearms on the tablecloth between courses and was leaning in towards Laurent. 

“The kind you find at a royal celebration,” Laurent said. He wasn’t sure if there were different kinds but wasn’t about to admit that in front of everyone.

“The kind you find in Vere,” Vannes offered. “There’s at least a foot between the men and women at all times.”

“And between men?” Damen asked.

Her response was a sly laugh. “Watch the pets and see.”

Perhaps it was different in seedy saloons, or raucous peasant parties, but dancing in Vere’s palace was a complicated, loaded thing done in sets of four or eight, weaving stepping twirling and occasionally leaping. The rules were strict. For the young unmarried people, it was the closest they might get to a member of the opposite sex. Whole courtships were conducted during turns around the floor. For pets, it was seduction or a chance to show their potential. For married couples, it was chance to show closeness. 

For Laurent, it was tedious. He knew the steps, the routines. He did not ever choose to take part unless absolutely necessary. It was a chance for handsy courtiers to get too close or eager ladies to chase disappointment. 

There was no reason two men could not dance closely. There was no precedent for it either, especially among those of equal status. 

The older people liked to dance. They liked the rules of it and the memories of when they were young. The formal sets started early, as the older people also liked to retire early, so there was a real break in the food courses and the quartet set themselves up at the edge of the hall.  
It was customary for the King and Queen to lead the first dance, so Auguste rose and invited Josefine to stand. Herode and helped his wife up. 

Damen looked expectantly at Laurent.

“Don’t be cruel,” Laurent said. He watched the couples take the floor and, once the music flowed, execute the intricate routines that made up Veretian dancing. Damen watched too, intently, occasionally moving his lips as if he was counting the steps.

Auguste and Josefine were resplendent as they glided around — a vision of everything a king and queen should be. With a pang, Laurent thought of Damen and his future in Akielos. Kings needed heirs. He could make Laurent feel special here but there were duties to be done, and Damen was dutiful to his crown.

“If this is a breach of etiquette,” Damen said suddenly, “Feel free to berate me. But would you join me on the floor, Talik?”

The look Talik gave Vanne was not one of looking for permission but some kind of shared amusement before they both nodded. Damen and Talik, tall and strong, fitted themselves into a quintet of shocked, skinny Veretian aristocrats.  
And danced more elegantly than any of them.

Laurent was smiling.

Here was the future King of Akielos, gamely whirling around a Veretian palace with a Vaskian pet, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Oh, to have that kind of confidence. To feel you deserve your place in the world.

“Go on,” Vannes said.

“I’m not cutting in.”

“Ask me to dance.”

“You’ll crush my toes.”

“Fine. Estienne?”

“All right. I’m up.” Laurent offered Vannes his elbow and went to the floor. He could feel the eyes boring into his back as he moved. The Prince rarely left the dais during these events. Certainly not to dance. At Auguste’s wedding, as the only member of the Veretian royal family living, Laurent had danced with Josefine. And her mother. Her aunts and three sisters. It was not something he cared to repeat.

Even now, when he should have walked straight to the centre where Auguste and Josefine were still making every young girl in the room dream about a fairytale future, Laurent lead Vannes to the fringes where Damen was doing an admirable job of keeping up with the Veretians.

Or perhaps the Veretians were still in shock.

“Have you been practicing?” Laurent asked, fitting himself beside Damen.

“Yes. These are the movements of someone who’s been doing this alone in his room for months.” Damen was being sarcastic. Laurent liked that about him. But he also liked how Damen got a little flustered once the words came out and he heard them with his ears.

“Interesting.” He and Vannes swapped places with two neat steps. 

“I’ve honestly never seen this before.” Damen’s eyes darted side to side as he completed the next turn.

“Don’t ever show me something you’ve done a lot. My ego won’t take it.” It was really unfair that one person, who no-one would have judged for lumbering, was so quick at picking this up. 

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

Now Laurent was flustered. He nearly missed his cue to turn. Luckily, Vannes was fixated on Talik and didn’t complain. Not so luckily, Auguste and Josefine joined their little set. 

“You keep surprising me,” Auguste said to Laurent. He did not, as he could have, placed himself in line between Laurent and Damen. “First with the soldier, now with the dancing.”

“I like to keep people on their toes.”

“Surprises are good,” Auguste said. 

“As long as they don’t upset our delicate political balance.” Laurent knew Auguste’s way of ruling. He also knew his brother was used to being liked and did not cope well when he was disliked. He thought Auguste would say something about Damen. 

“Josefine sent for the handmaiden,” Auguste said, instead. The scandalous one, he meant. “You’re not the only one willing to make statements. I’m going to dance with her.” It was a lofty idea and Laurent was somewhat pleased to have inspired it. For a king to dance with a woman bearing a bastard was a high endorsement indeed. 

It was also ridiculously stupid.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed. Damen leaned forward to follow the conversation. “If the king dances with a pregnant unmarried woman, and allows her to stay around the palace, what will people think? That you stuck your —”

“Enough.”

“I’ll dance with her,” Damen said, as if this was normal. “My barbaric sort has nothing to lose here.”

“She might think it punishment.”

Across from him, Laurent saw Vannes snort and on the next turn remove herself from the formation entirely. It was obvious why. While they were bickering, Josefine and her ladies and her handmaidens and Vannes and Talik had made their own circle. They were twirling around, giggling, while one king and two princes were bickering.

“Wine?” Auguste suggested.

“Excellent plan.” They moved fast before their abandonment was obvious. Damen had a strange look on his face watching the women, and it niggled at Laurent. Enough for him to down the cup that brought to him. He didn’t drink much. The loss of control was too frightening a concept. 

But at this celebration, alongside his brother and Damen, he felt quite safe enough to relax. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing you want to hear about.”

“You don’t know that.” Glancing to see Auguste was engaged with one of the nobility. The wine had come from his vineyard, so it was only fitting they converse. “I am happy to listen to any of your worries.” Laurent mentally kicked himself for sounding so benign.

“The ladies there reminded me of someone.”

“Jokaste.” Laurent thought again how Damen had to get heirs. 

“I hope that she’s happy,” he said, then shook his head a little so his dark waves bounced around his forehead. “It’s very warm here.”

“I thought Akielons savoured heat.”

“Do you find it warm?” Damen pressed. Laurent’s face was a little hot. It grew hotter under Damen’s gaze. 

“A little.”

“Would you like to step outside for some air?”

Laurent considered making some barbed retort. Briefly. He knew this was another one of Damen’s public declarations and accepting them was just giving gossips opportunity to talk about him. 

At least there’d be some credibility to this rumour.

“All right,” Laurent said. “I’ll show you the gardens.” Laurent did not seek anyone’s approval in personal matters but he couldn’t stop himself  
glancing towards Auguste, who was looking on with a face Laurent recognised from all the times he had attempted feats on horseback beyond his years. “I’ll just be a second,” he told Damen and stepped towards Auguste.

As King, Auguste could have warned Damen off at any time. Probably as an older brother he could have done that. Certainly, he had before when there were bored coutiers making games of pursuing Laurent.

“I’m going for a walk.” The words came out more defensively than intended.

“With the Prince of Akielos.”

“Yes.”

“After his display after our fight.”

“Especially after that,” Laurent said. “Speaking of which, what did he say to annoy you so then?”

“I think he was annoyed about the king-killer thing. He made it clear that —”

“He knows it was our uncle.” Laurent didn’t lie to his brother. Much. 

Auguste frowned. “It felt…Well, I can see why he disliked the mis-characterisation. He’s courting you, Laurent.”

“I’m not blind.”

“You haven’t done anything to scare him away.”

“I tried to months ago. It didn’t work.”

“You’re … He’s…”

“I’m aware of the inequality.” Laurent had none of Damianos’s reputation or natural charm. And about two thirds of his body mass.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it. He’s got a reputation. I don’t think he would deliberately hurt you but …”  
“It’s just a walk, Auguste.” Laurent half-smiled as he looked his brother in the eye. “I don’t think he would hurt me either, certainly not on purpose. I do think that it’s time I gave myself the chance to find out.”

-

Damen going ahead, and Damen being used to ordering people about, meant the interior gardens were cleared by the time Laurent joined him by the patio doors. It also meant Laurent’s guards were giving him knowing looks. He’d never regretted his decision to promote lowborn men to his guard. Perhaps he wanted fairer chances for all his people even then. He had not anticipated any kind of romantic entanglement when he he gathered a guard. High born men would never have been so ribald or open with their conjecture.

“None of you are getting bonuses this year,” he called, sweeping past them into the courtyard. Even though Spring had come, their was a chill in the air that made the scent of the flower beds sharper. 

The stars were bright. 

Falling into step beside Damen, Laurent had the urge to point out the symmetry of the geometric lawns and the balance of the still pools. Akielons appreciated that kind of design. But he watched Damen’s gaze flit admiringly over the scene before staying admiringly on himself and decided not to bother. 

They were walking away from the party, though bursts of light and snippets of conversation still trailed outward from open doors. The gardens were full of secret corners, anyway. Laurent hoped the guards had been thorough. He didn’t fancy stumbling across some lover’s tryst with Damen by his side.

“It’s chillier than I thought,” Damen said.

“You didn’t bring me here to talk about the weather.”

“I don’t bring you anywhere. You brought yourself.”

“I suppose it is a little cool.” Cool enough for his breath to form clouds as he spoke. Damen turned, without warning, and whistled something to his ever present guard. Laurent supposed it was a warning. 

The meandered past a flowing fountain and Damen ran his fingers through the stream of water. He liked to touch things. His hands went to the wrought iron railings, tracing the shape of the roses. 

Laurent liked filing this piece of information away.

“Since your brother spoke to you and not me, I won’t worry too much yet,” Damen said. 

“He likes you.”

“He wasn’t warning you of the dangers of taking up with barbaric Akielons?”

“Something like that,” Laurent said. “He thinks…it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m quite sure it matters to you.”

“He thinks I’m too naive to handle this. Or you, rather.”

“I think you can handle anything,” Damen said. “But, Laurent, I’m not going to rush you or pressure you. I would not hurt you.”

“Intentionally.”

“Are we back to the tent again?”

“Oh. No. That’s not what I meant.” He stopped then, due to the steps coming behind them which were from an Akielon Prince’s Guard whose  
duty was the only thing concealing his disgruntlement. The guard had a cloak over his arm and carrying to steaming cups of cider in his skilled, warrior’s hand.

“Exalted,” he said.

“Soldier,” Damen replied, and a nod was his thanks. The cups were set on the ledge and the man retreated. Damen had taken the clothing. Well, his chiton and short red cape were not for this climate. And he would inflict many indignities on a soldier but not that of dressing him. Damen pulled a basic covering around his shoulders. “Laurent,” he said. “Are you cold?”

“My clothing is more substantial than yours.”

Damen was holding another cloak. It was as luxurious as anything Auguste wore on the throne in high winter - snow white fur trimmed with the finest embroidered silk. It did not come from Laurent’s wardrobe. He favoured darker colours. To match his heart, he said to the tailors.

“Your ice cold mien won’t keep you warm,” Damen said.

But that wasn’t what made Laurent melt. It was the open look on his face. No-one in Vere would expose themselves like that. They’d try to trick  
you into begging for it. 

Laurent turned his body just enough and Damen dropped the heavy cloak down on his shoulders. Fastening, he could do himself. When Damen’s big hands weren’t lingering near the back of his neck. Such was Veretian fashion, and Laurent’s tendency towards restraint, that he was used to the restrictive bindings of his clothes. It was neither a pleasant nor unpleasant thing. 

But the weight of this cloak was nice. When he thought Damen wasn’t looking, Laurent raised his left shoulder to feel the fur against his cheek.

“Shall we sit there?” Damen was smiling, as he nodded towards a curved bench nestled within a bower. 

“Why not?” The space was small, intimate. You had to look at the person accompanying you. Laurent was still embarrassed at being caught out. 

“Thank you,” he said. “My manners are eluding me tonight. This is a very nice gift.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I’d like it better,” Laurent said, bringing his cup to his lips, “If I could feel it against my skin. Perhaps I will, some time.”

“Perhaps.” Damen was flushing. Laurent was enjoying this. “Before you befuddle me completely,” he continued, “I want to make something clear.”

“Sounds ominous.”

“Your brother need not worry. I —” He broke off. 

“It’s all right. I’m not expecting you to … not be yourself.” Laurent had seen the way people looked at Damen. He exuded sexuality, or perhaps it was just a confidence that made people feel like they could be sexual with him. He had duties to his crown. In Akielos, the king’s tastes were always traditional.

“After that night with the pin,” Damen said. “I rode back to my father’s camp. I was upset. I may have overshared.”

“I see.” 

“Nothing that would damage your reputation in any way,” Damen clarified. “I would never betray your confidence. It was just…you understand. As royals, there are few people you can show weakness around. I had to tell someone. Now, I won’t pretend my father was pleased. Or even sympathetic. After Jokaste, who could blame him?”

“And his feelings about Vere.”

“Can’t forget that,” Damen said. “I didn’t see it then. But it was him who insisted on the wedding. I thought it was for the sake of the child but my father has no issue with bastards.”

“I don’t…”

“In case I need an heir.” Damen’s voice was soft, nearly shy. “It would have to be someone a Veretian could accept.”

“I —” Laurent could speak endlessly about anything, except for when Damen brought up important matters. 

“I’m not pressuring you.”

“No, I mean …” What did he mean? “That boy Hugo from my troop. He’s illegitimate. One of Josefine’s handmaidens is unwed and with child. I’ve been trying, here.”

Damen smiled, then said, seriously. “The slave matter will take longer.”

Deep down, Laurent didn’t want to think about that awful matter tonight. He didn’t want to have to examine his real desires and what they might over-ride. 

“I understand. You’re not King yet.” Then, “You don’t have to do these things for me. I’m not even sure if I like you.”

“They are right. And even when I am crowned, it will take time. But I will do my best.” It sounded like a promise. “Lykaios has taken over the baby’s care, you know. She’s surprisingly fierce, if there’s someone weaker around.”

“I can’t imagine where she learned that.”

“Tell me about what you learned,” Damen said.

“From you? How to set a fire.”

“Since you came back,” Damen said. “I want to know about you hiding your identity among a ragged band of Veretian soldiers.”

“We were not ragged. I have standards.” Laurent waited for Damen to reply, but he just sat back against the wrought iron bench that looked too flimsy for his weight and waited. “It wasn’t hard at all,” Laurent said. “I’d had more prior training than I admitted even to myself. The first week, I tried to scare the other men into submission. Oh, they all hated me. But —” His cheeks were getting warm. “This is boring. Tell me about what else happened in Ios.”

“I want to know about what happened with you.”

“I’m not — All right, if your life is so dull I will continued. The men hated me. Even Jord, who usually likes when I’m cruel. Then one night, we had an issue with the food supply.” 

Damen listened, really listened, while Laurent spoke. The words came easier. The night stretched on, revelry spilling out the doors and the torches dancing on the water, and when Auguste finally sent for Laurent for the dessert presentation, they were sitting to close on the bench that their thighs touched.

“Thank you,” Damen said, when the guard had retreated again.

“For talking your ears off.”

“For spending time with me. May I?” Laurent nodded, automatically, and then Damen was taking his hand in his. He bent his head, lifted Laurent’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I can’t take any more of your time when we return,” he said. “But I’ve sent something to your room for later.”

-

 

Laurent could be patient, if necessary. He endured the presentation of a thirteen layer cake and mandatory small talk with various nobility and councilors. But impatience won out when he had something worth causing excitement. Damen was thoughtful. Laurent was dying to see what he had sent to his room. After catching Damen’s eye time and time again through the gaps between frilly, flouncing courtiers, Laurent’s body was made of energy. He thought if you cut him open, what was beneath would be gleaming like the stars.

_Laurent,_

_(I'm finished with formalities.)_

_I came to Arles with the intention of courting you with all the respect and elegance (yes, I can picture you smirking at the idea of me being elegant) you deserve. Laurent, you deserve these things because of your status. Because I did not treat you as well as I should have when we first met. Because you are person who is respectful and elegant and therefore should be treated as such._

_(Now I can almost hear my old writing tutor telling me I should not start a sentence with the word because.)_

_It is my hope that I was successful in being courteous. If I have not adequately shown to you that I want only to be loving and honest with you, then I hope you will give me the chance to persevere. You are anything but predictable, Laurent, and I have to rely on my own instincts now to glean if I have gone too far._

_But I also remember our time on the road. I remember how dark your eyes got when that whore sat herself on top of me. I remember how you inhaled when we shared the cave. At night, alone, I remember the shape of your body beneath those elaborate garments._

_(I bet you're blushing now. I bet you may not even want to remember these things yourself.)_

_This is a selfish gift. I want to imagine you using it. I want you to know that I have used it on myself. I want us to use it together, skin to skin, body to body. I would like to taste it mingled with the taste of you. I would like to breathe it in when you make me gasp. I want you, Laurent, more than words can say._

_I won't write again, or give you anything else, until you expressly indicate this is something you also want. This isn't a game to me._

_Yours,_

_Damen_

_(PS. I have never used this for wrestling. Save your quips for someone who is not driven beyond reason with wanting you.)_

Damen was not wrong when he guessed that Laurent would be blushing. Laurent was as a hot as if he has just been baked in one of the great ovens in the palace kitchens. Flesh aflame, blood rushing, skin glowing with heat.

With trembling fingers, he uncorked the ornate bottle that the paper had been wrapped around. The glass was surrounded by a clean metal cage and it was heavy in his hand. Oil. He knew it was oil. But, being somewhat familiar with Akielon pleasure drugs, he was somewhat relieved at the confirmation. 

Laurent dipped a cautious finger into the bottle. It was thick, mostly likely made from olives, and scented with verbena, lemon and sweetherb. The smell set his senses on high alert. Yes, he could see how it could be a welcome addition to any kind of coupling. And just like that, Laurent wanted the same things Damen mentioned in his letter.

His trousers were too tight and his skin was too sensitive. He felt a great tension in his chest and the strongest urge to dash through the dark corridors of his brother's palace to seek out Damianos in his rooms. It would be explosive, he knew, if they collided in this state.

But Laurent prided himself on patience. He'd be lying to himself if he said he didn't enjoy having the upper hand with almost all matters regarding the Crown Prince of Akielos.

So he dipped the quill, which had been the first gift, into a pot of black ink and wrote a short note on a sheet of cream paper.

 _Don't stop,_ he wrote. 

Through his strained trousers, he palmed himself while the ink dried. The thoughts of Damen doing those things to him, even as vague as he had described, had Laurent close to the edge.

Then, he smeared some of the scented oil over the sheet of paper before rolling it and sealing it with his personal stamp.

“Take this to Damianos of Akielos's rooms,” Laurent said to his guard Orlant. 

“Is there any message, Your Highness?”

The note was the message. The oil was revenge. 

But Laurent hesitated. “Tell him I will receive him after the hunt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for your lovely comments! just one more chapter to go after this.  
> icymi, i posted a fluffy/fun modern AU for Christmas last week. check it out if that's your thing


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nsfw

Vere being Vere, the hunt didn’t get started until well after noon. Damen made a point of looking at how high the sun was and looking at Auguste before they set off. Yes, he got on well with the King of Vere and hoped to continue to do so. Yes, he probably should have known better than to tease him now. But they were both soldiers as well as royals, and both understood the practical importance of not wasting daylight.

“Don’t worry.” Auguste reined his horse, which Damen had gifted, over to him. “We don’t need to spend the day what we can do in an afternoon. Veretian hunters are skilled and the runs here are excellent.”

“I wasn’t worried.” 

“We will talk when this is over,” Auguste said.

“About what?” 

_His Royal Highness says he will receive you after the hunt._

Damen had more pressing plans at hands. From the corner of his eye, he could see Laurent giving instructions to the horseman Jean. The riding leathers he wore fitted his body nicely. Very nicely. His hair shone under the bright sun.

“Don’t play stupid. Half my country already think you’re a dumb animal.”

“The other half think I’m a bloodthirsty barbarian.”

“I think you’ve taken a fancy to my brother.” Auguste was still smiling. His eyes had hardened, though. “And while I respect you, I will not stand for anything that would hurt him. You were standing behind him in the tent at Marlas. You didn’t see the fear in his eyes.”

Promises died on Damen’s lips. 

He raised his chin and said, “Ask him if he’s afraid now, then. I think you’ll find he will give you the same answer as me.”

“What’s that?”

“That this isn’t your business at all.” 

Josefine approached Auguste then, also on her new horse, and Damen was both surprised and impressed that the Queen was joining the hunt. 

“Showing our visitor the ropes?” Her smile was bland. 

“Something like that.”

“I’m not new to hunting,” Damen added.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” said Auguste. 

“Why don’t you join Laurent?” Josefine interjected. Auguste picked up his rein. “Not you. I want my husband by my side when the horn sounds.”

Damen fell back beside Laurent, who was pretending to listen to Lady Vanne and her pet Talvik. 

“I’ve been relegated,” he said. 

“I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“I don’t think I’ll be up to much at this hunt to be honest.”

“Sick head?”

“Sick heart,” Damen muttered. “I’m entirely distracted by the note you sent me last night.”

“Good.” Laurent smiled a wicked smile. “I’ll have no trouble beating you to the mark, then.” As he spoke, the horn sounded and thankfully Damen was experience enough to spur his horse into moving. He had no intention of letting Laurent beat him to the mark. 

But that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the whip of wind as Laurent rode beside him again, the flash of blue eyes when he glanced his way, and the exhilaration of competing out in the woods and away from the claustrophobic palace. The soil was rocky and uneven and the trees were wild. 

The runs outside Arles were full of nooks and crannies that the royals knew well and Damen did not. Laurent, of course, made no move to assist him. 

In fact, he made every move to hinder Damen’s efforts. The dog cries went out and the Damen found himself at the back of the pack.

“Saboteur,” Damen called, in Veretian. 

“You can’t beat the King twice in two days.”

“You can’t expect me to believe that’s why you blocked that path.”

Laurent shrugged, slowing his horse. He expected Damen to slow, too, and engage in some little verbal battle. His cheeks were flushed, eyes brightened from the ride. Exertion suited him. Damen did not exert easily or like to lose, so he spurred his horse onward after the dogs. 

The thing about hunting is animals do not like to be caught. Auguste made quick work of taking down the first boar but a second was twistier work. Laurent knew these runs and Damen stayed close by until the telltale barks rang out again and soon all the courtiers were left in the dust. 

Only Laurent remained once the boar was in sight. Still riding hard, he drew a spear from his pack. 

Damen had his own weapons.

“On the count of three,” Laurent called to him. “One, two —” 

They both threw before three.

The beast was caught, twin wounds to end its life. 

As the rest of the hunting party arrived to see the results, Laurent caught Damen’s eyes and smiled like the sun shined. Incandescent.

-

Damen was somewhat relieved to see the boars being butchered back at the pavilion. You never could quite tell with Vere. Hunting was sport, yes, but a pointless thing if one did not enjoy the spoils. There was meat here for dozens. And the energy arisen from the thrill of the chase had to go somewhere. The mood was festive, even more so than the previous night’s feast. 

Or perhaps Damen was more relaxed. Content, he lounged on a low chair watching coutiers of both sexes mill about, children run and pets admire their masters meagre successes. Auguste held court still in his mud-splattered leathers, Josefine and the boy by his side. Damen half expected Laurent to emerge re-dressed in one of his luxurious jackets but when he ducked in through the tent flap, without any kind of pomp, he was still dressed for the hunt too.

He made straight for Damen.

“Have you said something to offend my brother?” 

“Not that I’m aware of, why?”

“I thought you’d be slapping each other on the back in my absence. Comparing the heft of your weapons,” Laurent said. “Perhaps another duel.”

“I was waiting for you.” Damen sat up straight. “I’ll receive him after the hunt,” he quoted.

“That better not have been an impression of me.”

“I’m not nearly snooty enough for that,” Damen said. “So…”

“So.” Laurent executed a perfect military turn. “Come on, then.”  
-

There was a pair of fresh horses tethered at the edge of the pavilion. Since this was happening, Laurent was allowing and initiating this, Damen used his slight height advantage to press on ahead of Laurent.

“Please allow me.” He offered Laurent assistance to mount the horse. 

“That’s not necessary.”

“Indulge me.” 

With rather the same look he had given the hunting dogs he deigned to pet, Laurent accepted Damen’s offer. The pace was leisurely now and the sun was lower. It cast warm glow on Laurent’s face; dappled shade from the trees cast out shadows.

“Laurent?” Damen ventured.

“Hmmm?”

“I do not have your knowledge of this land but I am quite sure the palace is south.”

“Yes.”

“We’re going north.”

“Excellent. Those nights with the mapping tools did pay off.”

“Laurent.”

“Indulge me.”

-  
Laurent brought them to a stop at a sunlit clearing far from the pavillion and further from the hunting runs. The light was evening low but there was still a glow about the place, in the lush scent of the forest and the deep green hues of the grass which were offset here and there by small, closed white flowers. Damen could hear the rush of running water nearby and there was birdsong, too, as if the winged creatures didn’t know it was coming to dusk rather than dawn.

Nowhere in Akielos, not even Delpha, felt as alive as this. Akielon earth was dry, their agriculture a challenge, and their woods gnarled and sparse. This lone patch of land was more verdant than almost anything their gardeners could manufacture.

Damen thought about telling Lauren that, knowing he would welcome any concession to Veretian superiority, but his attention was wholly drawn to the opposite edge of the clearing. There was a small tent made of pristine cream canvas with the blue starburst pennant on top. Instinctively, Damen’s hand went to his pack which the servants had transferred from his hunting horse. He was glad Laurent had given him some prior warning.

Thought nothing could have prepared him for this sight. The trees above the tent were adorned with red and blue bunting. There was a fire set outside it, along with a pot and woven basket and some worn leather bags. The tent was roped open. Through the gap, Damen could see heaped furs and velvet pillows and he felt his lips curve upwards into a smile.

“Laurent,” he said. With saying the name, came the knowledge that this was indeed a Laurent thing to do. They could have spoken anywhere, even of matters of the heart. Princes in a palace, they could have cleared a path to privacy with the flick of a finger. But Laurent was determined to carve his own patch of privacy into the world. And when he was unsure of how to proceed, he acted to take charge. “You did this.”

“Not personally,” Swinging down from saddle. Offering the horse a lump of sugar, and Damen’s too. “I had Radal arrange it. He wasn’t best pleased, really, as he should have gotten a change to rest after all the preparations for the feast. He wasn’t pleased either when I vetoed his more ostentatious suggestions. Can you believe he wanted to lay down a carpet? And tie strings of coloured glass to the trees?”

“I’d be happy with a bedroll on the ground.”

“I know you would.” Laurent tethered his horse. “But you’ve been so generous with me I wanted to return the favour, in a way. I may be the second son, a prince rather than an heir, but we are not that unequal are we Damen?” 

As he spoke, he offered Damen a hand down from his horse.

Damen did not need it, but he took it with the wish that he would have removed his riding gloves beforehand. A tent for two generally meant one thing. But Damen was dizzy at thought of holding Laurent’s hand.

“Thank you,” Damen said. “I don’t have the words.”

Laurent rolled his eyes. He was smiling, as he tethered the second horse, as he petted its neck and checked its shoes. This was Laurent, with his guard down. And he had been right, of course. They weren’t that unequal. He was as inclined to take charge as Damen was, and this courtship, if Damen could allow himself the joy of calling it that now, had to continue on equal footing. He would not make the mistakes of the border tent again. 

“What can I do?” Damen asked.

He really was trying, as he walked up behind Laurent, to be courteous and considerate. Laurent had clearly gone to some effort to arrange this, to take control as was his nature especially when he was feeling out his depth, and Damen wished to honour that. He was also rather taken with the unexpected sweetness of it. Here was Laurent, guiding Damen along. Damen was always the one in charge. It was part of being a future king. Damen was nearly regretting the non-traditional approach he had taken to courtship since his arrival in Arles. He thought Laurent would appreciate an edge to the affair. He thought it was important to pay respects to Laurent’s family. Now he was thinking he should have wooed him the old-fashioned way, with flowers and jewels. 

Laurent had made a beautiful place out of this clearing in the woods.

Laurent turned from the horses, and the look on his beautiful face was wicked. No. Damen had been right about pursuing him with acute angles rather than silks and whispers. His heart jolted at the rightness of this feeling.

“You say you were trying to show me you want me these past days,” Laurent said, with the same cool precision that had made the kyroi kowtow and that Vaskian agitator beg Damen for mercy. 

“Laurent, I do want you. I want whatever you will give me.”

“Damianos of Akielos, I am waiting for you to show me.”

Damen was no stranger to using his body to show what his words could not convey. In all his lust-soaked daydreams, he had imagined showing Laurent his affection with soft kisses and reverent touches. Vulnerable Laurent. Dangerous Laurent. He deserved to be worshiped. This sweet clearing could be a place of worship. Damen would love to lay Laurent down on spring grass or spun silk. 

But Laurent had equal say in this, too, and the gleam in his eyes said something entirely different to Damen’s preconceptions. 

One step was all it took to close the distance between them. The tips of Damen’s riding boots were between Laurent’s feet. His shadow covered Laurent’s body. He’d been careful in the border tent and where had that gotten him? Time to do things differently. 

Except he was not beyond teasing. He still liked to draw things out. 

He brought his thumb to his mouth, and pulled it free of the glove. Each subsequent finger, he loosened in turn, with his eyes on Laurent whose eyes were growing darker. Hands bare, he wanted nothing more than to feel Laurent’s fine skin beneath his touch. Not that there was much exposed in this moment. 

Laurent wore his clothing so tight, there was no excess fabric for Damen to take hold of. So Damen put his hands on Laurent’s waist and tugged his body closer. 

Laurent licked his lips. Perhaps an unconscious motion. Perhaps he was teasing, too. It didn’t matter. Damen’s impatience won out and, gloriously, heatedly, he was kissing Laurent now. It was a fierce clash, clumsy with need, and Laurent nearly stumbling backwards with the force of. Good thing Damen had a tight hold of his body, now flush against his,and his mouth opening up for him. 

Damen thought of being underwater and that first wondrous breath of air when you burst through the surface. Kissing Laurent was like that first breath,the one that nearly hurt to experience. It was raw. It made Damen ache for more.

Laurent had his hands tight on the back of Damen’s neck. There was such strength there, in such different ways. He stood on his toes, ostensibly to even the height difference, but through the mist of kissing Damen liked to think it was about getting closer. He ran his hands all over Laurent’s back, and lower, and appreciated the firmness, the better angle, that came to Laurent’s backside by the way was standing.

Laurent liked it. Damen could tell by the fervour of the kiss, the swipe of his tongue, the push back of his body. Damen remembered what Laurent had liked in the tent, and kissed the small bit of his neck that was exposed. He could taste sweat, smell the earthy forest and the horses, and it was so unlike what you’d expect from looking at Laurent it made his head spin.

He realised too late, that he was after a day in the saddle too and suddenly his own skin felt coated in dirt. There was no pulling back from this. 

Not when Laurent had lodged one leg between Damen’s thighs and he was breathing little noises out his nose as Damen kissed his damp neck.

Laurent was inhaling, deeply, his nostrils flared. Damen didn’t think he’d appreciate being compared to a horse and anyway, his attention was elsewhere. He’d nearly forgotten the reality of the wild time chasing down agitators along the border, or perhaps he had just focused on the wrong things. In his mind, he had thought of Laurent the pristine prince and him the worldly warrior but that was not the truth. Laurent was capable. Laurent had not spent his life locked away in a tower. 

Damen kissed his neck. Laurent pressed his face against Damen’s hair, like it was the only thing in the world he needed. 

“How can I —” Damen tried to say. “How have I gone without this for so long this?”

Laurent pulled back, smiling. “You’ve only yourself to blame,” he said. “But we’re here now.”

“Where exactly are we?” Damen couldn’t believe they were having a conversation now, and he was still holding Laurent close to his body. 

“A clearing in the woods between Arles and Chastillon,” Laurent said. “Do you need me to draw you a map?”

“No.” Smiling. Leaning in for another kiss, which was softer now. They were here now. Until Damen remembered and made himself ask. “Have you — been here before?” When you were young. When you were afraid. 

“Just in passing.” Lightly. Like there was no room for sad aspects of the past here. “But don’t worry. No-one else will pass by tonight. I’ve cordoned off this entire quadrant of the forest. Both of our guard is on patrol.”

The thought of Damen’s personal guard, who knew him very well and whom he trusted and spent countless days inside his private quarters, being aware of this personal time with the Prince of Vere sent a flash of embarrassment through him. The Prince of Vere. It was different with him than anyone else. But it was right, of course. They could not stand for Damen being whisked away, even with his consent. 

“You think of everything,” Damen said.

“I try.”

It would be nice to sit somewhere. Preferably with Laurent between his legs, head resting on his chest. But that would require crossing the clearing. Unless Damen bodily picked him as as groom would a bride, it would require letting go of his body. That wouldn’t do. So he kissed him again, gentler this time, because they were here and they had time. 

The sun was lower, the light was warmer, and Damen drank in the moment.

“You stink of the hunt,” Laurent said.

The moment was over.

“So do you.” Damen did not step back from Laurent and his sense of smell. 

“I’m aware.” There was a half-smile playing on Laurent’s face. “This way,” he said, like a command, and began to walk across the grass. Damen followed, but he was not quite on board with ceasing contact, so he slung his arm around Laurent’s neck. Laurent startled, briefly, before relaxing, mostly. He was different, Damen had to remind himself. He wasn’t used to casual touches. It was doubtful he permitted them from anyone else and that thought sent a spark through Damen’s whole body.

“Have you used the baths at the palace?” Laurent was asking, and Damen was drawn away from thoughts of firsts and only. 

“I’ve been there quite a few days now. Contrary to popular belief, Akielons aren’t completely savage.”

“Only partially?”

“Only when necessary.” Damen grinned. “Actually, I have not used the baths proper. Considering my status here, I didn’t wish to run into anyone who disliked me while I was naked.”

“That didn’t stop you disrobing in front of me in Marlas.”

Laurent spoke lightly, but Damen felt the words heavily. 

“That was wrong of me,” he said.

“No matter.” Laurent came to a stop in front of the tent. “What I was trying to say, before you started talking about nudity, was that the water in the baths at Arles comes straight from the ground. Natural hot springs.”

“Really?” Damen was not interested in a Geography lesson. But there was something warm in Laurent’s tone that piqued his interest.

“There are pools, here and there, in these woods. In fact, there is one just beyond the tree line.”

“Really.”

“Care to join me?”

“I can think of nothing I would like more,” Damen said. “Well, perhaps not quite nothing.”

“All right,” Laurent said. “Go through the gap there and to the left. You can’t miss them.”

Damen did as he was asked. There was absolutely no missing the hot springs. Partly because Laurent had given specific instructions and had his servants leave buckets of fresh water and clean towels on the rocks. Mostly because of the distinctive smell. Horse might have been better. 

There were four buckets. Damen undressed, making sure to leave his weapon within reach. He sluiced himself down with one of the buckets and peered down at the rocky pool. 

“My,” said Laurent, from behind. “What a view.”

Damen straightened. “Are you sure this is safe? It’s rather…cloudy.”

Laurent stood beside him, having shed most of his own clothes. “Are you going to go off on a tangent about the clear seas of Ios? It’s perfectly safe. The waters are clean. Some say they have healing properties.” 

As he spoke, he removed the rest of his clothing. 

“What do you say?” Damen asked, forcing himself not to ogle.

“I say you’re not going to stand there once I’ve gotten in.” Laurent lowered himself into the pool.

“Right as usual.” 

The water was hot, when Damen had expected warmth, and that was a shock to his body after being exposed in the cold. His first urge was to jump back out. He forced himself to stay in place, to perch on one of the natural stone seats, and allow his body to adjust. Laurent’s chest and neck were flushed, redder than Damen had ever seen, but he showed no other sign of being bothered by the heat.

Damen thought that boded well. That he would cope in Akielos.

Then flushed himself at the daring.

“Well?”

“Prince soup,” said Damen. 

And Laurent laughed — amused, slightly scathing, fond — and Damen felt warm in his chest. It spurred him to move across the small pool to sit right beside Laurent. They were naked. The fact of it tinged every interaction. Damen was not shy about his body, nor strange about being unclothed, but it was different with Laurent who was incredibly private. Different because everything was different with Laurent.

“I like it,” Damen said. His thighs were right beside Laurent’s. He thought of how Laurent accepted his arm was they walked and found the courage to throw it around his shoulder again. The slide of wet skin was wonderful. The warm water soothed the parts of him that were aware of being in the saddle for most of the day. Proximity to Laurent incited awareness in other parts of him. His skin felt more sensitive than ever. The brush of his bicep against the damp, curling ends of Laurent’s hair sent shivers throughout his body.

“Good,” said Laurent, and he was letting some of his weight rest on Damen’s body. It felt like a sign of trust, though it was probably just convenience. 

“I’d probably like it if you lured me into a muddy pig sty,” Damen admitted.

“Even better,” Laurent said. “Although, not clever to admit.”

“I’m not sure I need to be clever around you,” Damen said. “I don’t think you’d turn against me.”

“Anyone can turn against anyone. Friend, family or foe.”

“Bleak.”

“But, by all means, keeping being idiotic. You can…” Instead of continuing, Laurent turned his head into Damen’s collarbone. 

_You can…_

When Laurent gave of himself like that, Damen felt he could do anything. What he wanted to was kiss, so he placed his knuckles under Laurent’s chin and tipped his face upwards. 

“Can I…?”

Laurent smiled and Damen kissed his forehead forehead, his cheekbones, before delivering a slow, sweet kiss to his lovely mouth. The steam made everything hazy, the water made movement fluid. Kissing was a warm, easy thing as natural as waves lapping against a shore. Damen cradled Laurent’s face with his hands. Laurent held onto his shoulders and Damen could feel his strength, see the solid muscle along his arms and chest that most people were not even aware of. Damen knew. He knew Laurent worked hard and fought well as anyone else. He knew the candid way he responded to kisses, languid and nearly naive. 

Laurent chose that moment to sling one of his legs across Damen’s body, shifting easily in the water so they were face to face and him practically in Damen’s lap. 

Not naive, so, but trusting. Determined. 

Damen took the movement as a sign he could put his hands under the water. He rested them on Laurent’s waist, enjoying the firm muscle and narrow shape under his fingers. Laurent drew back from the kiss and there was a long moment of looking before he tentatively drew his hands over Damen’s chest. The warm water made it easier to touch but it also heightened sensation. Damen held himself carefully still, while Laurent traced a wet path all along his upper body. 

Laurent let out a little hum of approval as he rippled his fingers over Damen’s abdomen. Every moment Damen had ever spent training was worth it for that alone.

He had to draw him in for another kiss and it was deeper now. Their bodies pressed together, enveloped in the warm water. The slide of tongue, the warm slide of hands along Laurent’s back, the steam, it all made Damen dizzy with need. His body reacted predictably, and Laurent pressed closer. The pressure was wonderful, as was the realisation that Laurent felt this too. 

He was hard against Damen’s stomach.

“Laurent.” The name came out a gasp.

“Mmm?” 

The water was still, of course, in this little pool. It wasn’t river, a lake, or an ocean where currents swelled and flicked against the shore. But Laurent moved against Damen as if buoyed on by a wave. It wasn’t anything purposeful, just naturally following what felt good.

They were kissing and Damen’s hands drifted to Laurent’s hips.

“Laurent,” he said, again. “You…” He didn’t know what he was trying to say. _You can._ You should. Laurent was kissing with intent, moving with new determination, and making little breaths Damen had never heard before. 

He melted into Damen’s touch. Clearly, he liked this. It was new to him, different to how it felt new to Damen, and he had been too long denying himself pleasure.

Nothing would please Damen more than for Laurent to come apart in his lap with these sweet movements. He wanted it for him. He watched, and felt, and on a different kind of precipice, and shifted his hips in turn. 

Laurent blinked, a flash of blue to bring Damen back to reality, and stopped moving.

“Don’t stop,” Damen said.

“I — No.”

Damen removed his hands from Laurent’s body.

“Are you —”

“Yes. I was…I was close.” He wouldn’t meet Damen’s eyes.

“I know.” Smiling. “You should…Laurent, I want you to come.”

Laurent’s flush deepened. “I can…” He reached for Damen. Something wasn’t adding up here, so Damen took Laurent’s hands in his. “I’m not afraid,” Laurent said. “Nor am I … having trouble. Just…I had an idea of how this might go and —”

“It didn’t involve hot springs?”

“No.”

“Are you always so desperate for control?” 

“I wouldn’t use the word desperate,” Laurent said, with a hint of a smile. “I am sorry if —”

“Hush,” said Damen. “None of that. Shall we get out? I’m rather overheated.”

The remaining buckets of cold water, left to rinse away the slightly sulphurous scent of the water, were sufficient to calm Damen’s body. He shook the water from his hair, telling himself it was not the time to be suddenly conscious of himself, and then Laurent was handing him a soft towel that definitely came direct from the palace. Damen wrapped it around his waist, and then Laurent was standing behind him, wiping the rest of the water from his back and his shoulders.

It was headier than steam, to have Laurent, Prince of Vere, dry his body. Damen felt overwhelmed with feeling, ready to drop to his knees in return, and then Laurent was wrapping his arms around Damen’s waist and just holding him for a long minute.

“Oh.” He could say no more. 

He could not think of another time in his life when someone had touched him like this.

“There are fresh clothes at the tent,” Laurent said, brusque. “Can’t have the Crown Prince of Akielos returning to Ios with a cold.” 

Laurent had thought of everything. Fresh clothes were soft, comfortable, and warm around his body. Arles was much chillier than Ios, especially in Spring as evening fell. Summers might be different. But Damen would not be here in Summer.

“I’m not going straight back to Ios,” he offered. It made him smile to see Laurent in soft, comfortable clothes, too. His white shirt open at the neck, trousers that seemed like an afterthought.

“No?”

“No. I’m going to see Nikandros.”

“We have some edicts for the Kyros about border policy.”

“He’ll be overjoyed.”

“I — Don’t get up. I’m building the fire.” Laurent set and lit it with efficiency. There was food and wine and water, too. Control, perhaps, or a show of…something else. _I am capable. I can look after myself. I can look after you as much as you can me._

“After this,” Laurent continued. “The celebration, I mean, I’m not staying here in Arles.”

“I hear you’ve been busy all through the country. Orphanages. Armies and what else…?”

“Bastards. Do you want something to drink?”

“Wine would be nice. If you’ll join me.”

“Why not?” He passed Damen the cups and bottle. “I’m going south, actually,” he said. “Now I have some real experience, it’s time for me to take up border duty and get the naysayers off my back.”

Damen was smiling as he poured the wine. They would not be far apart at all.

Whatever unlucky servant was sent here to create Laurent’s campsite, had left two logs to serve as seats. Adequate enough, given the circumstance, and perhaps left as a message of sorts to Damen from Laurent. This is enough. I can rough it. Knowing the splendor of Arles, having seen the pomp of the hunting pavilion, Damen thought the servants would not have batted an eyelid at being ordered to haul some comfortable velvet couches up here.

Anyway, logs were fine. 

But Damen preferred comfort, at times when one was supposed to be comfortable. He and Laurent were on a break from the responsibility of being public figures, and deserves some comfort. So he pushed back the nearest draped some convenient furs, and made a seat on the floor with the log for a backrest.

Laurent nodded approvingly, and sat beside him.

“Border duty may take you to both sides,” Damen said. 

“Perhaps. Or there may be some pressing matter for you to attend on my side.”

“What might that be?” 

“Me.” Said without irony or mirth, just a clear statement of the future. Laurent was not the kind of person do do things by halves and, like Damen, once his mind was set it was not easily swayed. 

“I’ll keep my schedule clear.” 

“I take it seriously, you know,” Laurent said.

“What?”

“Working for the crown. Serving my brother. I know you know that better than most of the country but…it has be visible, especially as my aims are somewhat controversial. I can’t just…”

“Break away for personal time with the Prince of Akielos?” As they were right now.

“Abandon my duty.”

“I would not ask you to,” said Damen. “I understand duty, too, and …” He took a sip of the wine to gather his thoughts. There was so many things he wanted to say about his personal hopes and dreams. Alongside them was the understanding that Laurent took on too much and thought he could do more than anyone one man could. Laurent had been so open with Damen already, uncharacteristically so, and that was another truth Damen bore like a responsibility. He valued the fact Laurent had chosen him to share his most personal histories with and secretly hoped for a future where both could share everything. But his feelings did not entitle him to knowledge of every detail of everything Laurent had done before they properly knew each other.

Speaking to (and sparring with) Auguste had unleashed emotions within Damen he did not think were there. Among them the annoyance at being labeled a killer of kings, when they could have been open about the real treachery as well as irrational anger that Auguste had been the one to kill the abhorrent uncle and his failure to protect Laurent, had been subsumed into new understanding. Damen was not always astute, he knew, but he was learning and going by some of Laurent’s dogged pursuits at the border and Auguste’s sayings, he gathered Laurent felt responsible and guilty for being by his uncle’s side as the rotten man undermined Auguste’s new position of King.

Laurent was fiercely loyal, then and now, even if he was feeling abandoned by his brother and hurt over what happened with Damen the first time Damen had hurt him in at tent. He would not have betrayed Auguste in anyway, but in his maze of a mind standing by could possibly be as bad as being an active participant. Especially when muddled with the subsequent fear and shame.

“Damen?”

“Sorry.” It would not do for Damen to imply he knew Laurent’s mind better than Laurent himself did. “Here is what I know as leader : I would never ask any of my subordinate to sacrifice more than I would myself. A man can work and have a life, there is always room for balance.”

“You are not my leader, though. And that does not sound like a particularly Akielon way of thinking.”

“We’re good at making people think we’re tougher than we are.” Damen smiled. “And from what I know of Auguste, he would not wish for you to sacrifice any chance of personal enjoyment for your country. There is room for balance. Consider how little your King does without his wife, his child, his brother and his guard around him.”

“He…is several years older and no-one can deny his work before ascending,” Laurent said.

“Just consider it.”

“How personal are we talking, then? In terms of enjoyment.” Laurent sidled closer. 

“You tell me,” said Damen. 

Laurent smiled into his winecup. “Like hiding in a house of ill repute with the future King of Akielos? Chasing enemies into foreign territories?”

“Kissing in an army tent?”

“Looking at the stars.”

“Making sure I knew you uncorked the oil,” Damen murmured. “You know, it’s very expensive. The extracts come from Cortoza; they’re said to be a natural pleasure enhancer.”

“I don’t require any kind of enhancement,” Laurent said. “Don’t worry. I don’t waste a drop.”

Damen gulped. Every time he tried to start something with Laurent, he pulled the rug out from underneath him instead.

“Frugality is a good quality in a leader.” Damen tried to keep up.

“I’m not a leader, though.”

“Aren’t you? It feels like it to me.”

Laurent’s expression shifted in a way that made Damen think of the sun dropping down past the horizon. “Are you hungry? There is food.”

“I ate after the hunt.”

“Tell me what you see,” Laurent demanded.

“Right now, a stunningly beautiful young man —”

“For the future, I mean, idiot.”

“A stunningly beautiful young man with a mouth like an urchin and heart like a saint,” Damen said. “I do not dare look to far ahead, lest we both get hurt but I see….” He was overwhelmed with all he could see. The Summer Palace. Boat trips to Isthima. Laurent presiding over winter games. Looking over his shoulder, pointing out flaws in all Damen’s plans for the future of Akielos. Warmth in his bed, blue eyes inches from his in the morning. “It was no small thing that my father sanctioned this visit,” he said. “And he sent me off without any caveats except to be sure and send some of your fine Veretian cherrywine back to the palace. He has kept Kastor’s child. So, I see the great marble hall at Ios and the sunlight bouncing gold against the columns and I see you standing by my side.”

Damen glanced around, for the pack he had brought on his horse, or tried to because Laurent was tugging on the back of his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. The fire came to life beside them, red, hot, and Damen felt that on his skin as searing as he felt Laurent’s mouth against his. This kiss was alive with all endless possibilities, the future stretching out ahead of them paved in silver and gold.

Careful, always careful, Damen lowered Laurent onto his back. Evening dew glistened on green grass. Birdsong filtered down from the trees. The fire crackled and Damen had the distinct pleasure of feeling the gallop-fast pace of Laurent’s pulse.

He cradled Laurent’s face in his hands. He made sure to balance his weight so not make Laurent uncomfortable. They were kissing, unreservedly, uninhibitedly — spurred on my need, by excitement for the immediate future and all that lay head. Laurent’s mouth was open for him to explore; his body arched up against his. It was a small, domestic joy that the same wine flavoured both their lips. Damen wanted to devour. He was filled with a drive he’d rarely felt outside the battlefield, something instinctive, raw and it nearly overtook his need to give Laurent every pleasure possible.

Laurent broke the kiss, like he was going to say something. Damen was going to let him, so diverted his attention to kissing the elegant skin on Laurent’s neck.

It took some time for Laurent to find his words.

“I’m not made of glass,” Laurent said. “You don’t need to treat me as if I would break at any second.”

Damen pulled back onto his knees. Laurent pushed up onto his elbows. 

“I don’t think you’re breakable,” Damen said. “I have seen firsthand what you are capable of achieving.” He started to caress Laurent’s leg, ankle to thigh. Laurent dropped back onto the furs, chest rising. His pulse must be faster now, Damen thought, and had the idea to lay his head on Laurent’s chest. He felt the little ooof of surprise. He kept up the slow touching of Laurent’s body. 

There, through the thin fabric of his white shirt, through the skin and bones, Damen could hear Laurent’s heartbeat. 

“Is this…” Laurent broke off. Instead he wound his fingers into Damen’s hair again, a touch so non-sexual it did something to Damen’s heart.

“I wanted to hear it,” Damen explained. “I wanted to say…I don’t think you’re fragile. I think you are precious. I have learned a very long time ago, that if you are lucky enough to lay hands on something as exquisite as you, Laurent, then it’s worth treating with utmost veneration.”

“Oh,” said Laurent. “Damen.” 

That was enough. Damen turned his head and kissed the place on Laurent’s chest where his heart lay. And he continued kissing, along his collarbone, between his ribcage, the tightly muscled abdomen until the laces that tied Laurent’s shirt together were stretched to their ends. His skin was pink where Damen applied any amount of pressure. As were his cheeks, his full lips, and the hardened nipples. 

Damen stopped at the waistband to Laurent’s trousers. He wanted very badly to, well, dive in but he wanted more strongly to be careful with Laurent’s wishes. So he made his way back up Laurent’s body, paying special attention to places that illicited gasps or groans on the first pass, and nestled his own body back on top of his.

“Hello,” Damen said, smiling. He bumped the tip of his nose against Laurent’s. 

“Can I help you?” Laurent spoke as if they were strangers and then they were both laughing, which turned to kissing, which turned to Laurent’s hands roaming all over Damen’s body. He pushed Damen’s shirt up and over his head. So Damen felt it was only fair to push Laurent’s off his shoulders and have their chests pressed skin to skin. Legs entwined, hips fitted tightly together, both of them feeling the other’s arousal as they kissed so deeply it was nearly clumsy.

Damen mourned the loss of contact as he lifted his lower half up off Laurent. The only silver lining was that he could now fit his hands between them, and feel Laurent’s hardness under his palm. 

Laurent’s hips jerked upwards, then he turned his head away.

“May I?” Damen asked, formally, wanting them to laugh again.

“You can…but.”

“But?” He pressed his heel in a little, but would not cross any barrier while there was any doubt.

“You know I’ve never really….”

“I know. I thought maybe…while you were a serving in the army.”

“No.” Laurent shook his head. “Though let me be clear it was not for lack of opportunity. My first night at camp one of the potwashers offered to suck my cock. Jord nearly choked on his mealy apple. I declined, of course, but it was nice that he offered.”

“No-one offered before?” Damen was amused by this tangent.

“Asked,” Laurent said. “Or…not like that. I never…I didn’t want it before.” There was an edge to his tone that made Damen concerned. He removed his hand. “Put it back,” Laurent said. “I mean, you rather ruined me during our sojourn through the borderlands.”

“Really?” Gently massaging with his hand. Feeling immensely proud. “Even when you told me never to bother you again?”

“Your head is swelling from my talk,” Laurent said. 

“It’s not the only —”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

Damen grinned. “I’ll find better use for my mouth.”

He took his time with. Laurent had responded to slowness and Damen wanted to give him what he wanted. He kissed every inch of skin on Laurent’s torso again, again, and skimmed his nose along the seam of Laurent’s trousers before working the laces out of the loops. Even then, he idly traced the exposed skin before peeling away the fabric.

“You normally wear your clothing tighter,” Damen commented. It was not hard to work the trousers down his fine, strong, legs. Certainly not as hard as it was not to be fascinated by the sprinkling of golden hair or the firmly muscled thighs. He kept his eyes averted from where they most wanted to stray, mindful of the line between objectification and admiration.

“I have forethought,” Laurent said. “I thought of my own comfort.”

Damen was crouched at Laurent’s feet now, having discarded the trousers over his shoulder. 

He raised his eyes, and there was so much to see. Laurent naked, flushed, hard, each part of his body so pleasing to the eye that Damen knew then he would never admire another, not even the statues in Nereus’s garden. 

“I want to use my mouth on you.” Damen’s voice was husky. “You will like it.”

Laurent nodded, once. Had his eyes not been so heavy with lust Damen might have questioned his enthusiasm. Well, that and state of his cock were proof enough. Still, Damen was slow with his kisses as he made his way back up Laurent’s body. He sucked the skin of his thighs, on the inside, where it was hidden and sensitive and Laurent let out a low sound from his chest.

“You like to tease,” Laurent said, as Damen focused his mouth on everywhere but the part of Laurent most eager for attention. He was hard, straining, ready. 

“I want to please you,” Damen said, rubbing it against his cheek. “I want to know every part of you.” 

Laurent did not have time to answer. Damen applied his mouth. He meant to be direct, take it all the way down, but remembered Laurent’s preference for delicacy. With restraint, or perhaps hunger, he used his tongue first. Then open lips. He had to put his hands on Laurent’s waist to keep him in place. Had to keep his own body away from friction, because any touch combine with quiet sighs and suppressed moans might have sent him over the edge himself.

Then, his whole mouth. A complete swallow, so that he nearly choked. There were some aspects of bedplay that Damen was not so practiced in. 

 

Thank the stars for Laurent’s inexperience.

You are human.” Laurent found the wherewithall to laugh at Damen’s spluttering. Not so inexperienced to tell.

Damen made eye contact, and pushed down again with his mouth. Laurent stopped laughing and neither could look away. Even as Damen removed one hand, used it to twist the base and explore further, they gazed at one another. 

“Damen,” Laurent’s voice quivered. “I —”

He did not avert his eyes, as Damen thought he might, as his pleasure built so that his body shook, and he came into Damen’s mouth. Well, Damen took the first sign and pulled back and used his hands to ease the rest from Laurent, until Laurent closed his eyes and touched his head arm. 

Damen moved away, curling on his side around Laurent’s body. There was a sweat damp curl plastered to Laurent’s forehead and it felt as profound as anything else to brush it away.

“I’ll say something in a moment.” Laurent still sounded shaky. “I just need…”

“Take your time.” 

Laurent sat up abruptly. “That wasn’t in my plan.”

“No?”

“The oil…”

“We have plenty of time.” Damen sat up alongside Laurent. “I can think of any number of ways for us to spend that time. There is no rush.”  
Ignoring the insistent feeling low in his own body. 

“I want…”

“Whatever you want,” Damen said, a promise.

With a firm press to his chest, Laurent pushed him onto his back again. Damen felt like a puppet, like all his body was under the control of Laurent’s slightest movements. Breathing hard, he watched Laurent explore his chest and abdomen with his hands as he had in the water. It was different now, with only air between them, and skin. Laurent tilted his head to the side, as if figuring out some complicated puzzle. Damen helped, by raising his hips from the ground and discarding his own trousers.

“Too presumptuous?” He tried to gauge Laurent’s expression. 

“Too…something,” Laurent said. 

“You don’t have to,” Damen began, aware now like had never been before of the vulnerability of being naked and bravery of showing your want like this. It was overwhelming to consider that Laurent would touch him, even though all the other things they had lead to this point. Neither awareness or vulnerability were unpleasant in this moment. The opposite, in fact.

“I know,” Laurent said, and his eyes were taking in all of Damen and his face was showing he was pleased with what he saw.

“Kiss me.” 

Laurent complied, snaking up Damen’s body and delivering teasing kisses that reminded Damen of how a fox might run. Damen felt him relax against his chest, then felt the wonderful drift of Laurent’s hands lower until he was touching him, precise, exploratory touches. 

“Laurent.” Damen breathed his name into his mouth. 

Laurent tightened his grip. “Yes?”

“Nothing.” Damen had mostly lost the power of speech. Laurent was touching him, pleasuring him with flicks of those fine-boned wrists. It was a heady concept, made headier by the fact they were slowly kissing and Damen could look right into his blue eyes. His mouth felt swollen with all they had done and still there had not been enough contact.

“Like this?” Laurent circled the head.

Damen nodded.

“Or like this?” Faster.

“Anything,” Damen said. He would take anything Laurent would allow him. He was clutching Laurent wherever he could find purchase. His hips were moving in rhythm with Laurent’s actions. 

“My, that is tempting.” With a peck on the lips and the removal of his hand.

“Laurent.” Damen felt betrayed, which was illogical. But it had been so good and now Laurent was…Laurent was fumbling among the furs and clothing, and act so unlike him that Damen was soothed somewhat.

“Since you brought it all this way.” The oil. 

“Laurent…” Damen’s vocabulary had shrank to nothing. Laurent had never, by his own admission, and to do that so soon felt like too much. 

“I think,” Laurent said, uncorking the vial with his teeth. “You like being on top.”

“I like anything with you.”

“But in general…” Pouring the oil, drop by drop, onto Damen’s cock. It made him hiss. “You like to…what’s the word? - Mount.” Working the oil into Damen’s cock with two hands.

“I … Yes,” Damen said. “But we have time…we…”

“Stop,” Laurent said. Damen stilled. He closed his mouth and something there made Laurent’s nostrils flare. With startling efficiency, hidden strength, he straddled Damen’s waist and rolled them both over. Instinct made Damen shift lower, seeking, but Laurent did not spread for him. 

“Like this,” he said, and Damen slipped between his thighs. The pleasure Damen felt at being enveloped like this must have shown on his face. 

“Not quite the authority you think you are —” Cut off by a kiss.

Damen had to kiss him, open his mouth and get as close as they could possibly could. He wondered if Laurent could taste himself on his tongue. His hips shifted, and he groaned at the tight sensation. The urge to drive deeper, chase friction and pleasure, kept him moving and Laurent urged him along with kisses, rolls of his hips, the new stirring of his cock against Damen’s body and oh, that glorious muscle in his thighs. 

Damen wanted to hold on to this feeling — the closeness, the anticipation, and the almost-taboo experimentation he had not experienced since a much younger age. But the sensation was so much. Laurent was so much.

“I can’t,” he gasped out. “Laurent, you have to know it’s never…” He had one hand in Laurent’s hair, the other pressed into the earth. There was so much to say. He was so full of feeling, so full of pleasure, but it hit him without warning and he said Laurent’s name again as he spilled between his legs.

Damen’s head rested against Laurent’s chest again, after. His heart had not slowed down.

“It seems,” said Laurent. “All those hours in the saddle were worth it.”

Damen found the energy to laugh. “No kidding,” he said. “I can’t wait to see what other tricks you’ve got up your sleeve.”

“Because Akielons don’t wear sleeves.”

He raised his head. “Akielons can always learn.” He raised himself off Laurent, unstuck their bodies and hoped they hadn’t wasted all the fresh water. He cleaned them both off, absentmindedly, too blissful to comment on the look that passed over Laurent’s face. 

“I’ll always look after you when I can, when you want it,” he heard himself say, seriously. Not too blissed then. 

“Well,” said Laurent. “I’ve got a bit of an appetite now. Let’s see what food we have.”

The fire was warm and they were all alone. Night had fallen, the moment passing them by. Neither were stranger to firesides after dark but it seemed more intimate to slip into the tent, where Laurent indeed wrapped the cloak Damen had given him around his naked body. He nibbled at sweetmeats and delivered a diatribe about the superiority of Veretian cheeses.

“Was this part of your plan?” Damen asked, shyly, as Laurent lit the brazier. 

“You know,” Laurent said. “You shouldn’t fish for compliments. They mean more freely given. So I will freely tell you I feel like the luckiest man in two kingdoms right now. And as for plans, you should also know I have a tendency to make plans that involve you and have them turned around. Therefore…”

“Laurent.”

“It was better,” he said, softy, and fitted himself into Damen’s arms. It would have been wrong not press a kiss to his lips, which were now sticky with honey, and withdraw just as quick as the kiss began. Simple kisses were just as important.

“Did you see my saddlebag?”

“I brought it in while you were stripping off for the hot springs.”

Damen followed his line of sight to the edge of the bedding. The leather bag was indeed there. 

“Last time we were alone in a tent,” Damen began. “I took your feelings for granted. It will be my life's endeavour not to be so foolish again.”

Laurent looked solemn now, except for where his lips had parted.

“This is for you.” He held out a small blue velvet pouch, tide with gold ribbon. “For if you come to Ios.”

Laurent made quick work of the knot. Damen’s heart was racing as Laurent pulled out the present and held it up to the lamp.

It was a pin, made with the most expensive gold in Akielos and by the most skilled craftsman. It served the same purpose as Damen’s lion pin, except this was cast in a spray of starburst — the symbol of Laurent’s family.

The look on Laurent’s face did nothing to slow Damen’s pulse.

“Thank you,” Laurent said, oddly formal. “Did…did you talk to Auguste about the possibility of me coming to Ios.”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“I wanted to ask you first.”

“Oh.” Smiling. Fitting himself back against Damen’s body. “And it is to pin one of your chitons in place?” 

Damen had to smile at the Akielon word spoken with Veretian inflection. “Yes, in practical terms.”

“Well, I don’t ever see the day I would wear one of those chitons,” Laurent said. Damen’s heart forgot a beat or two. “But…I have a riding cloak here somewhere. It closes at the neck.”

“Most cloaks do.” Damen dared hope.

“When we return to the palace in the morning,” Laurent said, gazing down at the pin in his palm. “Perhaps I could close it with this.”

“I’d like that,” said Damen. “Very much.”

“I’m sure you would. Marking your territory and all that.”

“You know that’s not why,” Damen said, though showing…not ownership but expression of what they shared publicly was something he liked the thought of — Laurent of Vere, wearing his gift at his throat. 

“Yes,” said Laurent. “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they lived happily ever after. The end.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this story! I truly appreciate every speck of interest and especially the comments and kudos. now that it's over, i would love to know what you thought. 
> 
> I most likely won't write anything else of this length for fandom but I do have a couple short stories on the backburner. follow me on twitter or tumblr if you want to keep up or be fandom friends or just squee about the summer palace coming out this week.


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